


Hope is hard to find

by haggarrrd



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, previous domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24825880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haggarrrd/pseuds/haggarrrd
Summary: Grantaire is a prostitute. Enjolras can't seem to understand that.
Relationships: Bahorel/Feuilly (Les Misérables), Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 68
Kudos: 148





	1. we all must stay alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My car’s... it’s this way,” he says hesitantly, tripping over his words a bit as he points absently. Grantaire waits, unsure of exactly what this means. He thinks he knows, but he needs to be sure. “It’s pretty private back there,” Brown Eyes adds, and Grantaire’s thoughts are confirmed.

It’s getting late, or early, Grantaire supposes, and he’s think that it’s time to finally call it a night. 

It’s been what he’d call a bad night – two blowjobs and a hand job that he didn’t even get paid for. It’s something that happens far too frequently, some jerk will pull up his trousers and make a run for it. Grantaire always curses them out until they’re round the corner and out of sight, but in the end, there’s nothing he can really do about it other than wipe his hands on his jeans and get back to his corner. 

He has a few regulars, mostly older married men who Grantaire can only assume are in denial about their sexuality. Grantaire tries not to think about it when he’s going down on them, or when they’re holding him in the back alley, fucking him up against the brick wall. He does his best to just put on the show that he’s paid for, tries to not think about that family that they probably have at home, the wife that has no idea what her husband is doing back her back. But they always pay, and never hurt him, which is a lot more than Grantaire can say about the majority of johns he gets. So, he has no right to judge. 

He doesn’t see them as often this time of year though. It’s late November, the Christmas season almost starting, and he figures that the loving, family feeling of the holiday period must make them feel guilty. It never lasts. Everything seems to slow down in November, and it generally doesn’t pick back up until late January. Grantaire continually dreads it every year, and it only gets worse with time. He brings in less money, and the cold settles in. It’s not Christmas for Grantaire, it’s just another winter that he has to struggle through. 

There’s nothing he can do about it tonight. He stands for a few more minutes, mostly delaying having to go back to the alley he calls home, but not really expecting to get another john. He watches the two girls across the road give up for the night, watches them walk around the corner, to whatever hell-hole they’re spending the night in, and finally decides to leave as well. 

He sighs, a mixture of exhaustion and frustration, and turns around to meet warm brown eyes. Grantaire can’t help but jump in shock at the sudden feeling of intrusion. Brown Eyes stares at him for a minute before dropping his gaze, fidgeting. He’s so visibly nervous, Grantaire finds it laughable. 

“You looking for something?” Grantaire asks eventually. 

Brown Eyes shakes his head, then says, “I was just heading to my car.” 

Contrary to his words, he continues to stand there and stare. 

“Are you sure?” Grantaire counters, arching an eyebrow. The man is young, maybe just a year or two older than Grantaire, no wedding ring, quiet. Pretty. Grantaire is almost certain he will fall into the pays money, doesn’t hurt category. Basically, he’s easy money. 

“My car’s... it’s this way,” he says hesitantly, tripping over his words a bit as he points absently. Grantaire waits, unsure of exactly what this means. He thinks he knows, but he needs to be sure. “It’s pretty private back there,” Brown Eyes adds, and Grantaire’s thoughts are confirmed. 

“Lead the way,” Grantaire says, gesturing vaguely. Brown Eyes turns, and Grantaire follows. 

Just as Brown Eyes said, the car park is dark, completely hidden. Grantaire’s been back here before. He can remember being nervous about his safety the last time he’d hit the darkness inside. For some reason he can’t quite understand, he’s unconcerned tonight. 

They pile into the man’s shiny red hybrid, and Grantaire finds himself astride Brown Eyes in the front seat, back pressed against the steering wheel. He curls forward a bit, resting his hands on the man’s shoulders and murmurs, “So, pretty boy. What can I do for you?” 

Brown Eyes stares at him for a moment, then leans forward for a kiss. Grantaire jerks back on gut instinct, because people don’t kiss prostitutes, and prostitutes don’t kiss people. His back hits the wheel, setting off the horn, and the noise echoes around them. Brown Eyes stares for an awkward moment, obviously a little shocked at Grantaire’s reaction, but then asks, “What’s your name?” 

“R,” Grantaire tells him after a minute. People don’t usually ask for his name, and that’s the most he’s willing to give away. 

“R?” 

“R,” Grantaire confirms. Then, “What’s your name?” 

“Enjolras,” the man replies, and Grantaire nods, gathering himself back together. 

“Well, Enjolras. What can I do for you?” he asks, squeezing his shoulders again for emphasis. When he doesn’t get an answer, Grantaire adds, “It’s 25 for hand job, 50 for a blowjob, and 100 for whatever you want.” 

Enjolras opens his mouth as though he’s going to say something, but then shuts it again. Grantaire has to resist rolling his eyes as he realises that he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands. 

“You want me to go down on you?” He asks, voice low and breathy. He eases a hand between them and feels at the man’s crotch. He’s already hard, and Grantaire feels quick, easy money. “Want me to suck you off? Let you cum down my throat?” He adds, watching as Enjolras shifts a bit in the seat and pushes his hips up against Grantaire. 

“Yeah,” Enjolras mutters after a few unsteady breaths. Grantaire scoots back and drops to his knees, back hunched to keep from banging his head on the steering wheel. He’s particularly short, so he usually has no trouble, but his attempt fails, and he whacks the back of his head of the wheel. He does not wince. He is used to being uncomfortable now. 

Enjolras notices anyway and pushes the seat back to give Grantaire more room, and Grantaire crawls forward with him, sliding his hands up under the man’s thighs. This act of unexpected consideration does not escape Grantaire’s attention. 

He quickly gets down to business, unbuckling and unzipping, pushing fabric aside to get to skin. He tries not to think about the fact that Enjolras seems like a decent person, and not the kind of person that cruises the streets looking for someone to pay for sex. Regardless, he still ends up wondering what his story might be. Being objective isn’t something Grantaire has fully mastered yet. He can’t help but wonder about most of the men that he sees. 

Enjolras doesn’t last very long, something that Grantaire has come to regard as a relief. He continues to be ridiculously considerate, raking his fingers through Grantaire’s hair and rubbing at the back of his neck. Grantaire’s more used to having his hair pulled and his face held down until he’s gagging. 

Enjolras’ hips buck up once, and Grantaire gags because the man’s been mostly still, just squirming occasionally, and Grantaire hasn’t really been paying that much attention. When Grantaire pulls off for a moment, letting his hand take over while he swallows back that reflex, Enjolras doesn’t order him back down, doesn’t grab his head and push him back down. Enjolras apologises. 

Enjolras is younger than his usual clientele, his skin is soft and a little velvety, and he’s quiet, just smalls gasps and the occasional breathy whimper. His hair is long and falls in perfect ringlets past his shoulders, and he smells clean, mostly like soap, just a little bit of a sexual musk there too. He runs a hand down the side of Grantaire’s neck, lightly squeezes his shoulder, and for one brief moment, Grantaire forgets that he’s being paid to do this. 

Enjolras warns when he’s about to cum, something that is also unheard of. He pulls off when he’s finished, and Enjolras reaches out and runs a thumb across Grantaire’s lower lip. Grantaire wonders why he’s so turned on. 

He also wonders why he lets Enjolras pull him up from the floor and into a wet, sloppy kiss. It’s nice, really, the way Enjolras kisses him and cradles the back of his neck in his band. However, when he runs a hand down Grantaire’s stomach and repeats Grantaire’s moves from earlier, cupping a hand across the front of Grantaire’s jeans, Grantaire quickly decides that this needs to end. And it needs to end now. 

He scoots back until he’s kneeling on the floorboard again, and looks up at Enjolras while Enjolras looks down at him. After a moment, Enjolras tucks himself back into his jeans, does up the zip, then squirms to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. He hands Grantaire a crumpled up note, and Grantaire takes it before silently letting himself out of the car. 

The headlights to Enjolras’ car follow him slowly out of the garage, and Grantaire starts to get a bit nervous, wonder if he’s read him wrong. But then Grantaire’s on the pavement, and Enjolras’ hybrid heads in the opposite direction down the road. 

He realises that Enjolras had been watching to ensure that Grantaire made it safely out of the dark confines of the car park. His heart spasms, but he ignores this. Instead, he silently berates Enjolras for apparently thinking that he can’t take care of himself. 

When he gets back to his alleyway and pulls the money out of his pocket, he realises that Enjolras has given him twice the amount that he owed him. 

His heart spasms again, but at the same time, he curses Enjolras and hopes he doesn’t see him again. 

~*~ 

Of course, Enjolras turns up three days later. 

He walks over from the direction of the car park. Grantaire eyes him from where he’s leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand. He flicks the ash from the tip as Enjolras comes to a stop in front of him. 

“Can I take you to a hotel or something?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire wants to laugh at the absurdity of this question. 

“It’s your money.” Grantaire answers, shrugging. 

Enjolras nods, and they once again head around the corner and to the car park. 

Enjolras ends up fucking him doggy style on the hotel bed, his chest pressed against Grantaire’s back, his breath hot and heavy against Grantaire’s spine. He takes time to prep him and as far as Grantaire can tell, Enjolras actually gets off on it. He pushes Grantaire down into the bed, pushes down until Grantaire’s stretched out beneath him, and Grantaire’s completely aware of how wanton he is at that moment, at how he’s spread out on the bed, sweating, hard, so turned on. 

He wants to reach a hand down, but he doesn’t go there. He can’t allow himself to enjoy this. He can’t go down that road. One of Enjolras’ arms disappears, and Grantaire feels smooth fingers wrap around his dick. His mind tells him to bat Enjolras’ hand away, but Grantaire’s mind suddenly has no say anymore. 

He enjoys himself. He goes down that road. And he comes so, so hard. 

Afterwards, Enjolras falls asleep, and Grantaire quietly lets himself into the bathroom. He cleans himself up, pulls his clothes back on, and heads for the door without looking back. 

He gets caught before he can get out of the room. 

“You can stay, you know,” Enjolras mumbles, and Grantaire glances back to find Enjolras watching him, tired and obviously satisfied. Grantaire wonders if he looks the same way, then realises he could never look even half as attractive as Enjolras does at the moment. 

“I have to work if I want money.” Grantaire tells him. 

“I can pay,” Enjolras says. “Cover whatever you usually make.” 

It’s so, so tempting. It’d be amazing to just lie back down next to his warm body, to be done for the night, but Grantaire knows that he can’t. “That’s not how this works.” 

Enjolras hesitates, his mouth half open as if he’s about to argue, but then relents with a soft, “all right.” 

Grantaire turns back, pulls open the door. 

“Your money’s here on the nightstand.” Enjolras says quietly. 

Grantaire freezes, and he can feel himself blushing. He turns back and heads towards the bed with as much nonchalance as he can muster up. Two hundred euros stare up at him from the bedside table, and he mentally groans, just picking up one of the hundred euro notes. 

“Take it all,” Enjolras says. 

“You only owe me a hundred,” Grantaire counters. 

“I said take it all.” 

“Enjolras...” 

“I said take it,” Enjolras says, his voice cold and stern. Grantaire glances over to the bed, half alarmed, half indignant. Enjolras smiles slightly after a tense moment and says, “I’ve never met anyone so averse to getting paid.” 

Grantaire still hesitates, but eventually takes both notes with a quiet thank you. Enjolras doesn’t answer, and so Grantaire leaves the hotel in silence. 

He uses the extra money to get a taxi instead of having to walk back to his corner, and in the end, his feet thank Enjolras as well.


	2. at the end of the day it's another day over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can’t go down this road. Pretty Woman is not real life.

Enjolras comes back twice the following week. He takes Grantaire back to the hotel both times, and he makes Grantaire leave with extra money both times. Grantaire sucks him off the first time, then lets Enjolras fuck him on his back the second time. He does his best not to stare at Enjolras while he’s being fucked. He tries not to notice the way his muscles slide as he moves, and he keeps his head turned to the side so he doesn’t look Enjolras in the eye. 

He only gets a few johns over the weekend, but he has enough money from Enjolras to keep himself fed. He even buys a couple of extra blankets for the cold and still has plenty of money left over. 

His first john that Monday is an older guy Grantaire hasn’t seen before. He gives Grantaire a hundred euros, then manhandles him once they’re in the back alley. He shoves Grantaire up against the wall, yanks his jeans down, and thrusts in dry, no condom. It hurts like hell, but it’s the bigger picture that has Grantaire fighting back, squirming to get away, kicking back at the man’s legs. 

He gets out of the guy’s hold, but then only gets a few, stumbling steps away before strong hands wrap around his neck. He coughs, choking, scratching at the man’s hands as he struggles for breath. 

The man doesn’t release him, but rather slams Grantaire up against the wall. His head is slung soundly into the brick, and he collapses to the ground before the pain even registers. 

When he wakes up, he’s alone. Every fibre of his being screams in agony, and it takes everything he has to push himself up to his hands and knees and crawl over to the old, mildewed couch that he calls his bed. He hikes his jeans back up and lies down, staring down at where his backpack used to be.

His backpack: a few changes of clothes, a bar of soap, whatever non-perishable food he has, and his money. His fucking money. Gone. 

He doesn’t sleep. He can’t sleep. All he can do is stare at the sky and watch the sun slowly rise into the sky. 

Finding a comfortable position to lie in becomes more and more impossible as the hours tick by, but somehow against all logic, Grantaire manages to fall asleep sometime in the middle of the morning. He tells himself that this is what he needs, just some rest. He’ll sleep it off like a hangover, and then get up to work for the night. He’ll recover the cash with time, buy some more clothes and supplies once he’s able, and things will go back to normal. 

He only gets a few hours of sleep before he’s awake and scrambling, his stomach already working it’s way up his throat. He manages to stumble away from his make shift bed before he starts vomiting, and it’s the sort of sick that seems to come all the way up from the ankles. He’s shaking by the time he stops heaving, and he takes a few wobbly steps before half-sinking, half-falling against the wall and to the floor. 

He stops to catch his breath, and then does a subconscious assessment of things. 

There’s a huge lump on the side of his head, and he feels like he might be getting a black eye out of the ordeal too. Though he’s not sure how or why, his right shoulder is bruised and burning in an ungodly sort of way. Grantaire thinks he might have fallen on it wrong when he went down. The left side of his ribcage is swollen and sore and bruised as well. Grantaire feels like he’s been kicked repeatedly. He realises that he probably has been. 

And the most recent developments – nausea and dizziness. 

He needs medical attention. He knows this, but doesn’t want to acknowledge it. There’s a free walk in clinic a few streets away that he’s been to once before. They seemed nice enough, and they didn’t ask a lot of questions. 

But then again, Grantaire had only needed a HIV test before. He hadn’t looked as though he’d just had a battle with the pavement. There will be more questions this time, questions that he won’t be able to answer truthfully, Grantaire is sure of this. 

All the same, he drags himself to his feet as soon as he’s able, and goes about hobbling down the pavement in the direction of the clinic. He gets worried and shocked glances by passers by, but he just continues to put one foot in front of the other. 

He finds himself standing in front of the clinic, no real recollection of crossing roads or actually getting there in the first place, but then he staggers inside to blessed relief in the shape of one tall, dark haired nurse.

“Oh, God. Here, here let me help you,” the man says, jump up from where he’d been kneeling on the floor and looking over another, younger patient. His trainers squeak on the tile floor as he hurries over, and he bends down to let Grantaire lean against him. He shuffles him over to the nearest chair, then eases him down into it. If Grantaire were feeling better, he’d be laughing at the fact that he’d just let a stranger help him into a chair. 

He lets his head loll backwards into the wall, and as pain shoots up the back of his neck, really wishes that he hadn’t. 

“Our doctor is busy with an emergency case,” the nurse rambles, pulling a fresh chart out of the filing cabinet. “He’s headed to the hospital, but I’ll get you in to see our nurse practitioner.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire mumbles, and then once again accepts help into the back. The nurse throws a curtain back, revealing one of the small exam rooms, and sits him down on the bed. He takes some basic information from him, name, age, address, then goes to leave. Before he swings the curtain shut, he puts a hospital gown in his lap and gives him orders to change into it. 

Once he’s gone, Grantaire takes the gown and throws it into the corner, towards the bin. And then he waits. 

It’s about five minutes before the curtain swings back open, and so appears a very familiar face. 

Enjolras stares at him, one hand still on the curtain, the other holding a clipboard to his chest. “Holy shit,” he says after a brief moment of shock, and Grantaire hears an answering call of ‘beautiful language, Enjolras’ from somewhere behind the curtain. If Enjolras hears this, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he yanks the curtain closed behind him and walks over to Grantaire, concern quite visible in his eyes. 

Grantaire starts laughing, and once he starts, he can’t stop. 

“What the hell?” Enjolras says, though Grantaire’s not really sure if he’s referring to the injuries or the fact that Grantaire’s started cackling like a maniac. He takes Grantaire’s face in his hand, tilting his head to the side as he inspects the head injury. 

“This is…” Grantaire says, jerking out of Enjolras’ hand and consequently causing a wave of dizziness to go through him. “This is ridiculous, I’m leaving.” Grantaire decides, but when he gets up, the world seems to move under his feet. 

He falls into Enjolras, and it’s lucky that Grantaire only stands at a whopping 5 foot 5, or he would have taken Enjolras down with him. But Enjolras is tall, nearly a foot taller, so he promptly pushes him back onto the bed with ease. “Stop it,” Enjolras tells him plainly, and then goes back to looking at Grantaire’s forehead. “What happened?” he asks, gloved fingers gently feeling the swollen bruise, then edging up into his hair. “You’ve got a laceration up here,” he says, mostly talking to himself. Grantaire feels a pinch to his scalp, and the flinches on impulse. “Sorry,” Enjolras says quietly, removing his fingers. “Just had to make sure it wasn’t deep.” 

“It’s okay,” Grantaire answers, feeling humiliated already. Then, to answer the question, “I got mugged.” It’s not a complete lie. 

Nevertheless, he gets a very suspicious look from Enjolras before the man asks, “any other injuries besides the obvious?”

“I did something to my shoulder.” Grantaire answers, motioning to the offending body part. “And I think I must have gotten kicked here,” he adds, lifting up his shirt enough to show off the rather impressive bruise blooming across his side. 

Enjolras frowns, then asks, “Did Combeferre not give you a gown to change into?”

“Uh,” Grantaire says. “Yeah, the nurse gave me one. It’s over there.” Enjolras glances back at the wadded up gown by the bin. 

“Great. Uncooperative, and only half the story.” Enjolras mumbles, though it’s just loud enough for Grantaire to hear. Grantaire knows that he was meant to hear it. “Well at least take your shirt off.”

While Enjolras says it in a completely professional manner, Grantaire still feels naughty pulling his shirt over his head. He tells himself it is an inherent reaction from him line of work. 

Enjolras proceeds to pull Grantaire’s shoulder around, apologising repeatedly every time Grantaire so much as winces, then declares that he’s probably ripped a ligament in his shoulder, possibly torn his rotator cuff. Surgery is the preferred treatment, and it goes unsaid but understood that since Grantaire can’t afford it, surgery isn’t an option for him. 

And then Enjolras moves onto his ribcage, poking and prodding and once again apologising profusely. He assures Grantaire that none of his ribs are completely fractured, but that they could definitely be cracked or bruised. He tells Grantaire to take it easy, to not bend over too much, and Grantaire tries not to laugh. 

Grantaire knows that there is one more thing to talk to Enjolras about, but he subconsciously waits until Enjolras is pulling his gloves off and is tossing them into the bin. He doesn’t quite meet Enjolras’ eyes when he adds, “and before you go, I uh… I need to get tested. For HIV.”

Enjolras’ head snaps up, and Grantaire’s heart breaks at the look of utter panic on his face. “You’re fine.” Grantaire assures him quickly, though he can’t expect this to calm Enjolras down in the least. “It wasn’t – you’re fine,” Grantaire stutters again, shaking his head. We used protection, Grantaire wants to say, but he also realises that this will only worry Enjolras more, as well as probably get him in deep shit if one of his coworkers hears him. 

Enjolras is silent at first, but then he cocks his hip to the side and narrows his eyes. It would be an utterly terrifying expression if he hadn’t put his hand on his hip, but it just makes Grantaire want to smile. My little gay nurse practitioner, he thinks, biting his tongue, then scolds himself for acting like a thirteen year old with a first crush. 

It only seems to make Enjolras angrier that his glare did not instil instant fear. He folds his arms across his chest and snarls quietly. “You know, this would be so much easier on everyone involved if you would just tell the truth.”

Grantaire is still largely unintimidated, but it’s the underlying disappointment in Enjolras’ voice that has Grantaire opening his mouth, “I was working at the time, not someone I’ve ever seen before. He got rough, went in with no condom or warning. I tried to fight him off, he didn’t like that.”

He really doesn’t want to be overheard and get carted off to jail. 

Enjolras is quiet at first, something far too close to pity showing across his face, before he says, “HIV tests are only accurate after a thirty-day window period.” 

“Oh,” Grantaire says. He thinks he might have known that at some point in time, but he’s not sure. 

“Yeah,” Enjolras replies. He fidgets for a moment, then says, “considering that you were raped, I should do an anal exam.”

“Who said anything about rape?” Grantaire says, far too loudly considering their exam room is made out of curtains.

Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose, “you just said…”

“You can’t rape a fucking prostitute,” Grantaire hisses.

“That’s not true.” Enjolras says immediately. 

“Says who?”

“If you don’t consent, you don’t consent. Doesn’t matter who you are.”

“You think you’re really smart, don’t you?”

“And if someone has hit you on the head, or choked you until you passed out, that pretty much makes it impossible to consent.”

Grantaire opens his mouth to argue some more, but then is suddenly spitting out, “How did you know he choked me?”

“Lucky guess,” Enjolras says sarcastically, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “You’ve got finger marks on your neck.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says, brought up short. He runs a hand down his throat absently, but can’t feel any swelling.

“Do you think you have a fissure?” Enjolras asks. 

Grantaire blinks, “A what?”

Enjolras heaves a sigh, “do you think you were torn?” 

“Do I really need to answer that?” Grantaire snaps, frustrated. When Enjolras only stares, he says, “No lube, no prep. What do you think?”

Enjolras doesn’t answer, only sighs after a moment, but then wanders back across the room until he’s leaning on the bed next to Grantaire, hands spread out next to Grantaire’s thigh. Grantaire watches him warily, but then Enjolras says quietly, almost a whisper. “Look. I’ll keep you here for the rest of the day, I’ll just give Combeferre some excuse. I get off at seven. I’ll take you back to my apartment with me – you can soak in the bath a while, get something to eat, rest. And I can give you pills at home. We’re not allowed to give out prescription pain killers here – we get too many druggies – but you need some. So just – just stay, okay?”

“I have to work,” Grantaire says automatically. 

“You’re kidding, right?” Enjolras says, raising an eyebrow. “The battered and bruised look bring in a lot of clientele?”

“You’d be surprised.” Grantaire says, almost pleading. 

It’s those big, brown, worried eyes that do Grantaire in. "Okay,” he relents. 

“Okay,” Enjolras echoes. He steps back, squeezing Grantaire’s knee affectionately before turning away. He looks over his shoulder as he pulls the curtain open, and says, “Just lie back. Relax. I’ll ask Combeferre to get you a glass of water and some Ibuprofen. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” 

Grantaire nods, and with that, Enjolras turns to leave. He pulls the pen off his clipboard, looks down at Grantaire’s file, and suddenly smiles. “Grantaire,” he says, quite obviously pleased by this discovery, and glances back at him.

“Yeah, Grantaire.” Grantaire says, a small smile creeping across his face. Enjolras finally closes the curtain, still smiling. 

Grantaire puts his shirt back on, lies down as instructed, and listens as Enjolras’ footsteps move away, as another exam room curtain is pulled open, and as Enjolras’ kind voice speaks up again, just further away. 

Grantaire rubs a hand across his face, careful to avoid the blackening eye, and realises that he has done a very stupid thing. 

He can’t go down this road. Pretty Woman is not real life.  
~*~  
Grantaire waits to leave until Enjolras is in another exam room and Combeferre is busy with another patient. He passes two other people in scrubs on his way out, but neither of time give him so much as a passing glance. 

He hobbles back down the pavement to his alleyway, once again avoiding any concerned looks thrown his way, and the collapses onto his couch once he’s there. He tries to sleep, but sleep won’t come. 

He watches the darkness fall, watches as the two girl across the road walk up and lean against their wall. He looks at their fishnet stockings, short skirts, glittery pumps. He watches as a car pulls up and picks up the taller one, and watches as the short one is left leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. 

He suddenly wants a cigarette himself, but then again, his cigarettes are long gone with the rest of his things. He sighs, contemplates crossing the road and seeing if he can bum one off of the girl, then decides it’s too much hassle to get up. 

He tells himself that he’s going to go to his corner to work in just one minute, and then he tells himself this again, and again, and again.

He’s not sure what time it is when Enjolras suddenly appears. Grantaire is still watching the girls across the road – the short one got picked up, and now the tall one is back to leaning against the wall- when Enjolras’ solid figure suddenly wanders across the pavement in Grantaire’s line of vision. Grantaire watches him, watches as he looks around, watches as he runs an aggravated hand through his hair. 

“Grant – uh, R?” Enjolras calls, though it’s half hearted, as if he’s already decided that Grantaire isn’t there. 

“You got a cigarette?” Grantaire hollers back, and grins as Enjolras jumps in shock and begins looking round again. “I’m back here.” 

“What are you doing back here?” Enjolras says, taking in Grantaire and the dirty couch and the smell of urine and vomit with a wrinkled nose. 

“I’m sleeping,” Grantaire tells him. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping in a bed, not on someone’s trashed couch.” Enjolras says. 

“This is a bed,” Grantaire counters. “It’s my bed.” 

Grantaire watches as this information and all of its connotations hits Enjolras full across the face. He watches Enjolras collapse a bit on the inside. 

“Don’t,” Grantaire says before Enjolras can even open his mouth. “Just don’t. Save your breath.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Enjolras says, “it’s going to be cold tonight. Do you at least have a blanket? Or a jumper? Or something?”

“Don’t. I said don’t.” Grantaire snarls. It comes out with a lot more bite than he’d intended. 

Enjolras is quiet, watching him, brown eyes unreadable in the moonlight. “I’m trying to help you,” Enjolras says quietly. “Can’t you just let me? Help you?”

“Why me?” Grantaire counters. “There are thousands of homeless shits in this city. Go find someone who wants it. Or even better, deserves it.”

“There’s a big difference between a ‘homeless shit’,” Enjolras says, a mocking emphasis on Grantaire’s terminology, “and a good person stuck in a bad situation.”

“And who’re you to judge?”

“I work in a walk-in clinic,” Enjolras replies. “I see a lot of ‘homeless shits’. I see a lot of druggies. I see a lot of gang members. I see a lot of people who have just thrown their lives away. But I don’t see a lot of good people.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then Grantaire spits, “You do realise that you don’t know me, right? And, I mean, why the hell are you even out here?! You seem like a nice enough guy. You’ve got an education, you’ve got a job. You’re good to people – hell, you work in a fucking free clinic!”

“Why are you here?” Enjolras counters. 

“Up yours,” Grantaire says. 

“You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Yeah, because you’re a puddle of sunshine right now. I’m trying to fucking sleep!”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because it does.”

“What the hell is wrong with you! You’re in no physical condition to be out here tonight. I’m trying to help you so that I’ll be able to live with myself in the morning. You’re gonna stay out here and brave the elements on a bacteria infested couch just because you won’t accept a bed, a bath, or a meal…”

Grantaire sighs, closing his eyes. The prospect of an easy night is so good, but he knows he shouldn’t. He knows that he can’t do this, yet he still relents, “If I come with you, will you shut up?”

“Yeah. If you come with me, I will shut up,” Enjolras replies, then smiles. The smiles shakes Grantaire’s heart a little bit. 

“Okay, let’s go,” Grantaire says, swinging himself up from the couch. The world promptly tilts sideways, and his stomach lurches. He leans over, but he hasn’t eaten all day, and he only dry heaves. 

“You’ve probably got the concussion from hell,” Enjolras states once Grantaire’s stomach has settled. Grantaire can feel Enjolras’ hand rubbing slow circles on his back. He leans into it against his will. "You good?” Enjolras asks after a moment. 

“Yeah. I think.” Grantaire says, and he stands a bit more carefully this time. Enjolras keeps a hand on his shoulder. “Car in its usual place?” 

Enjolras laughs, that true and uninhibited kind of laugh, and Grantaire tries not to be enthralled by it. “How’d you know?” he asks, and Grantaire chuckles, letting Enjolras push him out and onto the sidewalk. The girl across the street looks on in interest. 

“Thank you,” Enjolras tells him once they’re in the car. Grantaire thinks he’s joking until he looks over, sees the sincerity in his face. 

“You’re the strangest person I have ever met in my entire life.” Grantaire replies. 

Enjolras just chuckles in response and keeps his eyes on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% sure this actually works as a fic? Hopefully you're liking it cause I decided to write the whole thing out before posting the first chapter so this doesn't just end up as another one of my abandoned story haha.


	3. one day to a new beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah,” Grantaire says casually. He isn’t going to make a move. He isn’t going to encourage this. He also realises that Enjolras obviously doesn’t need encouragement.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive from the car park to Enjolras’ apartment. They pass through and out of the slums, into the homier area downtown, and finally into the suburbia outskirts. 

Grantaire’s never really been out of the city since he’s called it his home, and so the break from the urban chaos is new. 

New, unexpected, and so nice it hurts. 

Enjolras’ apartment is of the standard two bed, one bath variety, but what catches Grantaire’s attention is how comfortable it feels. There’s a relaxed, lived-in sort of atmosphere – if only walls could talk, Grantaire thinks – but the stack of board games on the floor and empty bottles of wine and coffee cups on the coffee table at least tell a recent story.

He wonders if Enjolras had friends over last night, or maybe Sunday night. He wonders if Enjolras’ friends know that he’s been fooling around with a prostitute. He wonders what Enjolras’ friends would think if they knew he was letting said prostitute sleep at his house for a night. 

Grantaire decides to stop wondering. 

“Here’s, just lie down on the couch for a few minutes,” Enjolras says, snatching some empty coffee cups up as he does by. Grantaire collapses down onto the couch with a groan of pain that he tries not to let out. “Hang on,” Enjolras says, obviously having heard him anyway. Grantaire listens to him in the kitchen – glasses clinking, cabinets banging open and shut, the mechanical hum as the fridge door is opened. 

“Here,” Enjolras says, handing one a glass of water to Grantaire. “Sit up before you drink,” he adds. 

“Yes, mother.” Grantaire says, struggling up into a sitting position. Enjolras doesn’t answer, he’s already opened his bedroom door and disappeared. Grantaire takes a sip of the water. Enjolras disappears, and then appears again soon enough, stretching a hand out to Grantaire. 

Grantaire looks down at his little handful of pills, then raises an eyebrow at Enjolras.

“It’s just Oxycodone, and a Phenergan for your stomach,” he explains, pushing his hand out a bit further. 

“Where’d you get them?” Grantaire asks, a little suspicious. 

“Perks of knowing a hospital pharmacist,” Enjolras explains. Grantaire reluctantly extends his hand, takes the drugs from Enjolras. He figures if he’s going to die, at least it’ll be painless this way. “I try to keep some of the basics on hand for situations like these, considering that the clinic can’t carry them. Some patients clearly need them, though, regardless of clinic policy.” 

Grantaire throws the pills in his mouth and downs them with one drink of water. “So what?” he asks, wiping at his bottom lip. “You’re a dealer?”

Enjolras chuckles, “I guess. A little bit. A selective dealer who doesn’t take money.” Grantaire laughs, letting his head loll back against the couch cushions. “You can lie down, you know.”

And so Grantaire puts the water on the table and lies down against the couch cushions. He feels like he’s lying on one big, soft pillow. It’s so, so good. 

“That stuff will knock you out,” Enjolras says after a moment, fishing the TV control from somewhere on the chair under his ass. He starts flipping through channels, and Grantaire watches, a little enthralled. He can’t remember the last time he’s watched television. “So just, you know. Sleep when it hits you. Don’t be all stupid and try to stay awake.”

“What makes you think I’d do that?” Grantaire says, twisting his head around to look at Enjolras. 

“That just seems like something you’d do,” Enjolras says, smirking. And okay, maybe Enjolras is sort of right. 

Grantaire watches as Enjolras settles in on some sort of medical programming, and after that, he drifts off without even realising it.   
~*~  
“Hey. Hey, Grantaire.”

Grantaire opens his eyes, groggy and moves his head to look up at Enjolras. Enjolras is leaning over him, a hand squeezing his forearm. He smiles when Grantaire looks up at him. 

“You feeling any better?”

He has to stop and actually think about it, just because he doesn’t feel that bad anymore. The constant paid has dulled considerably, and he’s not nauseous at all. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, letting his eyes slide shut. He wonders if Enjolras will throw him out now he’s clearly not dying. “Yeah. Loads better.”

Enjolras chuckles. He doesn’t remove his hand from Grantaire’s arm though. “Better living through chemicals,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire cracks an eye back open to see Enjolras’ sly grin. “You want anything? You hungry, want to take a shower maybe?”

Grantaire grunts, he feels disgusting, but the shower is the last place he wants to be, “just wanna sleep.”

“Sort of what I thought,” Enjolras says, tugging lightly on his arm. “I was about to go to bed. Come on.”

Grantaire allows himself to be pulled up into a sitting position, his head groggy and thick, “where are we going?”

“Bed,” Enjolras says, amusement obvious in his voice. “We’re going to bed.”

There’s only one thing that Grantaire really associates with a bed anymore. “Enjolras, I really...” He pauses, trailing off, because he can’t really say no. It’s his job. But he’s so tired, and there’s no way he’s letting anyone near his ass anytime soon. “Just not all the way, okay? It just – you know. I’ll blow you, but...”

Grantaire shuts his mouth as he watches Enjolras’ face fall. “That’s not what I meant,” Enjolras says, his voice level but stern. Then, “What kind of person do you think I am?”

Grantaire stares for what even he can recognise is too long, but he honestly doesn’t know the answer to that question. He’s not really sure about Enjolras. He’s not really sure about anything most of the time. He tells Enjolras as much, a moment of deep honestly that he’s almost ashamed of afterwards. Enjolras listens to him quietly, and he doesn’t respond, doesn’t give him any words to make life easier, more understandable.   
He reaches out though, and pulls Grantaire into a hug that isn’t dirty, isn’t sexual, isn’t any of the things that Grantaire has come to associate with being held by another person. Enjolras is gentle with him too, careful to avoid the bruise on his side, and Grantaire sags against him, too tired to be concerned about giving in. 

While Enjolras doesn’t say a word, he hears ‘don’t worry’, and ‘it’s going to be okay’, and ‘I’m not going to hurt you’.

“Come on. Bed.” Enjolras says again as he pulls back, and Grantaire follows, changes into a clean t-shirt and boxers that Enjolras gives him, and crawls under the covers, all quite willingly. 

They don’t cuddle or ever touch at all, but there is this comfort in knowing that Enjolras is there, a comfort in knowing that he’s not the only one sleeping in the bed, a comfort in knowing that he’s not alone for the first time in a long time. 

He’s asleep again before he even knows it.   
~*~  
When he wakes up, Enjolras is gone, but then Grantaire checks the alarm clock by the bed to find that it’s nearly eleven in the morning. The man’s gone to work, Grantaire realises, and so he sinks back into the pillows and just lounges for a while, trying to remember the last time he felt so comfortable. 

He can’t help but wonder about Enjolras’ blind trust – Grantaire could turn the place upside down and leave with every valuable the man owns. Not that he would ever even consider it. But Enjolras has basically just opened up his home so he can get robbed. 

He wonders if this has ever gotten Enjolras stabbed in the back. 

He dozes for a few more minutes before finally pushing himself out of bed. Grantaire finds the note stuck on the bathroom mirror after he’s relieved himself and walked over to the sink. He reads half of it while he’s washing his hands, then reads the other half after he’s washed his face and inspected his black eye in the mirror.

Grantaire,   
I left for work around quarter to seven. I didn’t want to wake you up, so I figured you’d eventually find this.   
There’s two more Oxycodone on the kitchen counter if you need them. Ibuprofen is there too. Take what you need. Water’s in the fridge, cups in the cabinet on the far right. Feel free to grab something to eat. In fact, please do. Help yourself.   
I put clean towels by the shower, so please take one. Your clothes from yesterday are in the washer – you'll have to take them out and throw them in the dryer once they’re done.   
I want you to stay, but I know you’ll leave anyway.   
Enjolras

“God, what a mother,” Grantaire tells his mirror self. “The man has a damn social justice complex.” He continues to mumble on his way down the hall and into the kitchen. True to his word, there are two little white pills on the counter next to a box of Ibuprofen. Grantaire pushes the pills back and out of the way, then takes four Ibuprofen instead. 

He throws his clothes into the dryer as instructed, then goes back to the kitchen and downs another glass of water. He contemplates just leaving once his clothes are dry – he doesn’t need Enjolras’ sympathy or help – but then his eyes land of the loaf of bread by the toaster.

And he’s dirty – that's undeniable – so he decides to take Enjolras up on his offer of a quick shower as well. 

He leaves clean and fed, the pain dulled and makes sure to lock the front door on his way out.   
~*~  
He doesn’t do well that night. Two guys pass through – they pull up by the curb, roll their window down, take one look at Grantaire’s swollen face, then leave before Grantaire can get a word in.

And so he leans against the wall on his corner, smoking a cigarette that he bummed off of the girls across the street, and he’s not even surprised when Enjolras comes wandering down the road. 

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt,” Enjolras says. “I checked my apartment first.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says casually. He isn’t going to make a move. He isn’t going to encourage this. He also realises that Enjolras obviously doesn’t need encouragement. 

“If I were to want to take you home for the whole night,” Enjolras says, leaning against the wall and effectively mimicking Grantaire’s body language, “what would the going rate be?”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “And you assume I do this sort of thing?”

“You did last night,” Enjolras points out. Grantaire groans in frustration. 

“Look, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, “I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know why you’re doing this, or what you want, but you can’t...”

“You don’t know what I want?” Enjolras interrupts. Grantaire can tell that he’s trying to play sexy, coy. Grantaire just finds it amusing. “I want to take you home, order a pizza, watch a bad film and maybe mess around a bit.”

Grantaire eyes him speculatively, but doesn’t answer. 

“Would 500 euros work?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire laughs. 

“Make it 300, and it’s a deal.” Grantaire relents. 

And so Grantaire finds himself on his knees at around one in the morning, drunk off his ass, giving Enjolras a rather slobbery blowjob. It’s a lot easier when he’s this drunk, Grantaire realises. It’s a lot easier to just suck and lick and spit, to not think about what he’s really doing, to enjoy it a little despite it all. 

It’s especially easy to enjoy the quiet noises Enjolras makes in the back of his throat.

He goes all the way down, swallows around Enjolras’ dick, and pulls off with a small pop. Enjolras makes an amazing sort of noise, and Grantaire jerks him, spits on his dick, then licks an obscene trail from base too slit. 

He’s not even slightly aware that he’s acting like a dirty, horny slut. 

He goes back down, and Enjolras fists his hand in Grantaire’s hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding. Grantaire flicks his eyes up to look at Enjolras, and he finds Enjolras looking back down at him, sprawled out on the couch, legs spread open in the most wanton way Grantaire has ever seen. Grantaire can’t even help himself – he pulls off, dips his head, and licks up the crack of Enjolras’ ass and over that little puckered hole. 

Enjolras curses spectacularly.

“You are some sort of insane ridiculous.” Grantaire decides to take this as a compliment, and Enjolras adds, “God, you're good at that.”

Grantaire hums around his dick, something that is supposed to mean ‘damn straight’. Enjolras throws his head back against the couch cushions and goes back to making those little noises.

When Enjolras cums, Grantaire makes a show of tilting his head back and swallowing. Enjolras watches him with a pleased little smirk and says, “You are obscene.”

Grantaire absently rubs against Enjolras once he’s though, the friction of his demin jeans a little rough but still nice. He decides he’ll jerk off, and so he sits back on his rump, back falling against the coffee table. A few empty cans roll off, but he ignores them, goes about undoing his fly. 

Enjolras slides down from the couch in one, easy motion, and then pushes Grantaire’s hands away quite pointedly. He pulls open the fly, pulls Grantaire out, and goes down without any preamble. 

Grantaire’s first thoughts are ‘no’, and ‘wait’ and ‘what if?’, and ‘condom’. But then Enjolras is wet and hot and so fucking enthusiastic about the whole thing. Grantaire watches him for a moment, watches the way his mouth moves and the way his brown eyes look as he meets Grantaire’s gaze. 

He gives in, twisting himself so he can lie down on the floor. Enjolras moves with him, crawls over him, goes back to sucking him off.


	4. is he from heaven or from hell?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t realise that Enjolras is talking until he’s halfway through the sentence. “...not fair to you,” Enjolras finishes, and Grantaire looks up to meet his gaze. Enjolras stares back for a moment, then says, “This isn’t something that I do, you know? It’s sort of a first. I don’t really know, you know, the ‘rules’.”

Grantaire wakes up the next morning curled up under a thick duvet stark naked.

He’s hungover as hell, and of course, the fact that his forehead is already smashed up doesn’t help in the least. 

He rolls over and up, a hand pressed to his upset stomach, and takes a look at the alarm clock by the bed. It reads 10:30 AM, and Grantaire twists to look behind him, to look at the other side of the bed. 

Enjolras is lying on his side buried under the covers. He regards Grantaire through hazy brown eyes, obviously not all the way awake. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Grantaire asks. 

“No,” Enjolras replies, squirming under the covers. “I’ve got the day off.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says. He looks away after an awkward moment, glancing around on the floor for any signs of clothing. But then he remembers that they’d been fooling around in the living room, not the bedroom, so the clothes are probably out there. He stands up and heads for the door. 

“Don’t go,” Enjolras says. When Grantaire turns back, Enjolras is still watching him. Enjolras meets his eyes for a moment before letting his eyes drop – first to the bruise, then lower. And while Grantaire is never self conscious, he’s never really had anyone look at him like that, at least not when he was bruised, sick looking, and pretty flaccid. 

“I...” Grantaire starts, trying desperately to come up with an excuse for having to leave. He falls short and then finishes, “Got to take a piss. I’m coming back.” 

“Okay,” Enjolras replies, then shuts his eyes. Grantaire shakes his head, agitated for a reason he can’t quite distinguish. 

Grantaire’s not sure how long he actually stays in the bathroom, he does what he’s there for, and then stands in front of the mirror to analyse himself. He picks at his disheveled hair, presses at the bruise on his forehead to affirm that it still hurts, bites at his chapped lips. He thinks it might be beneficial to get a ‘Caution: Stupid Bastard’ sign to hang around his neck. Just so people would know at first glance. And so Enjolras could figure It out eventually. 

He’s not prepared when Enjolras leans around the corner with a quizzical expression and says, “I thought you were coming back.” Grantaire turns to give him a look - an ‘I’d really like to rip your head off’ sort of look mixed with an ‘I’d really like to make out with you’ sort of look. Enjolras raises his eyebrows and asks, “Everything okay?”

“No,” Grantaire says. “No, it’s not.” He heads out of the bathroom, shouldering his way past Enjolras. “I’m getting my clothes.” 

“Woah, woah, wait...” Enjolras says, and Grantaire can hear him bump against the wall behind him. “Wait, Grantaire. What’s up? What’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t have fucking done that last night,” Grantaire hisses, grabbing boxers up from the floor and pulling them on. He hopes they’re actually his boxers. 

“What-” Enjolras says, and Grantaire whirls around to find his shirt. He ends up with Enjolras’, but doesn’t much care. Enjolras shifts uncomfortably, obviously trying to make the fact that he’s still naked less conspicuous. “We shouldn’t have, what? We shouldn’t have fooled around?”

“Not the way we did,” Grantaire says, then can’t help but take pity on the other guy. He grabs the other pair of boxers and tosses them in Enjolras’ direction. He fumbles to grab them, and then quickly goes about getting them on. 

“What way?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire grabs a pair of jeans, realises that they’re too new to be his, and drops them. He locates his other the other side of the coffee table. 

“You’re a fucking nurse practitioner!” Grantaire snaps. “Do you not fucking...? You realise that we didn’t use condoms, right? And you have no idea what I might have. I could be walking around with the fucking black plague!”

Enjolras is silent for a moment, then says, “You didn’t use a condom before. The first two times you went down on me.”

“I don’t care about you!” Grantaire snaps, then regrets using those particular words as Enjolras shuts his mouth abruptly. “I mean,” Grantaire amends, “there’s a big fucking difference between me sucking your clean cock, and you sucking my diseased one.”

“Your dick’s not...” Enjolras says, then groans in frustration. 

“I had a guy shove it in with absolutely nothing,” Grantaire remind him as Enjolras glares. “I don’t - I don’t like that.” 

“Well, I’d think not.” Enjolras mocks. Grantaire ignores him, just plows on. 

“That screams of shit going down. It’s fucking scary! People don’t just do that without a reason,” Grantaire yells. “And there’s a shitload of sick pervs out there. Sick in the head and sick in the dick.” 

“But isn’t that part of the deal?” Enjolras asks, voice becoming more and more heated by the minute. “I mean, whores can have crazy nasty stuff. But you sign on for that when you decide to have sex with them. It’s part of the whole thing.”

Though it’s not the first time Grantaire’s been called a whore – hell, he refers to himself as one – the way Enjolras says it breaks something, and breaks it hard. “Then why the hell are you fucking me?” Grantaire snarls. 

“Did I ever say?” Enjolras says, trailing off and scrubbing his hands over his face. “You want to know why the hell I’m sleeping with you?” he finally yells. “Right now? I have no idea.”

Grantaire’s silent, guts twisted, heart pounding. The only thing he can think to do is reach his hand out, palm up, and demand, “you owe me 300 euros.”

It cuts Enjolras down hard, that much is obvious. Grantaire should feel a sadistic pleasure in it. He doesn’t. 

Enjolras turns to go back to his bedroom, then comes back and slaps a wad of money into Grantaire’s chest and says unfeelingly, “let yourself out.”

“Gladly.” Grantaire says, and he’s gone before either of them can decide to back up and make it all okay again. 

He’s back in his alley before noon.   
~*~  
Grantaire normally pays very little attention to the time and days passing by. Every day is just another day. Every night is just another night. He gets more johns on the weekends, and that’s normally how he keeps track of things. His days are classified as ‘more johns’ and ‘less johns’. 

Suddenly, though, he’s keeping track of time by Enjolras. It’s three days since Enjolras. It’s a week since Enjolras. It’s two weeks since Enjolras. 

Three weeks since Enjolras, and Grantaire thinks he’s finally starting to lose what little bit of sanity he has left. Enjolras was just a john. A good john, yes. Easy money, kind to him, opened up his own home to him, but still a john. Just another man that walked into his corner for a while, and then left. 

But alas, it’s still three weeks since Enjolras, and Grantaire is sitting on the pavement on his corner, enjoying the sunshine that has finally broken through a week of straight snow. It’s still damn cold – he has a sweatshirt on, a blanket wrapped around him, and he’s still freezing his ass off. But the wind has quieted and the snow is starting to melt away. The sun feels good on his face. 

He’s smoking, half dozing really, when the girls from across the street come trotting over to him. He looks up at them, squinting his eyes against the sun, and is still as amazed as the first time he’d seen them during the day, not whoring. They look very normal in jeans and sweatshirts, no make-up, hair hanging down and natural. 

He sometimes wonders if it’s easier as a woman – or at least easier to keep the two lives separate. They’re like this during the day, just two ordinary girls – but then tonight they’ll be all make-up and glitter and overdone sex, just two more whores on the street. Grantaire is just Grantaire all the time – he has no glittery outfit or fishnet stockings or other ridiculousness to change into. He’s sitting on his corner now in jeans and a sweatshirt, and come tonight, he’ll be standing on the corner in the same jeans and the same sweatshirt. The only difference is tonight he’ll be throwing dirty looks and coy glances, flouncing around and generally making a show of himself instead of relaxing on the pavement. 

R may be a cover for him, but it’s not another character. R is still just Grantaire. 

R looks up at the two girls, while Grantaire mourns the three-week anniversary of no Enjolras. 

The short one flops down on the pavement next to him. She starts digging through her bag, explaining all the while, “We just got free donuts and coffee. We grabbed some extra for you.” 

“What? Where?” Grantaire asks, accepting the coffee the tall one hands him. Neither of them answer his questions, so he just says, “You girls are great.”

“Yeah, we know,” the short one says, producing two donuts wrapped in napkins from her bag, then hands them over. One is chocolate with sprinkles, a fact that makes Grantaire far too giddy. 

The tall one grabs the cigarette out of his mouth as she sits down next to him, and the short one tucks in against him, pulling the corner of his blanket around herself. Grantaire eats his donuts and listens to them talk and share gossip. 

Enjolras appears seemingly out of nowhere – or rather, from inside the bakery across the street – but Grantaire hadn’t seen him go by or go in. Their eyes meet, but Grantaire ducks his head after a moment, bringing his coffee cup to his mouth. He can’t see Enjolras this way, and between the two girls and the shade from the overhang, Grantaire’s pretty sure his face is hidden in shadow. It’s the perfect set up – Enjolras will walk away, and nothing will be any different. 

Except that the tall girl suddenly perks up and points across the road, yelling, “Look! It’s R’s Sugar Daddy!” 

“Fuck, you’re right,” the short one responds in turn, uncurling from her spot against Grantaire’s side. “Hey, Candyman!” She yells, waving her hand around frantically, and then yelps as Grantaire elbows her. “What?” she asks indignantly, glaring at him, but it’s too late. The damage has been done. 

Grantaire looks back up in time to see Enjolras muttering a few words to his companion, then trotting across the road towards them. Said companion stays where he is, just moving to lean back against the wall, and looks on with an unamused expression. Grantaire wonders if he knows. 

“It’s R’s Candyman!” The short girl repeats as Enjolras draws even with them. Enjolras looks down at Grantaire, and Grantaire looks back defiantly. 

“Yeah,” Enjolras says, though he doesn’t sound very enthused. “Your face looks better.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire echoes, then, “I wish I could say the same for you.” Both girls swing their heads around to stare at Grantaire, and Enjolras’ face darkens. Grantaire stares back for a second, mouth hanging open, before apologising. “I’m sorry, that – I don’t know...” 

“It’s okay,” Enjolras replies, though his expression doesn’t quite match his words. An awkward silence settles before Enjolras says, “Well, I’ve got to get back to the clinic.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says. The girl to his right takes a drag off of his cigarette. 

Enjolras nods, looking back across the street. His friend stares back quite pointedly, and Enjolras turns back to Grantaire. “I’ll come back,” he says quietly, and Grantaire just watches him. “Just - take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, great.” He says, even though it falls flat. “See ya.”

“Lover’s spat,” the short girl says once Enjolras has crossed the road and once again joined his friend. Grantaire watches them walk away in the direction of the clinic. 

“You’re so full of shit,” Grantaire tells her. 

“Yeah whatever,” she replies in a tone that Grantaire doesn’t like. “He’s a babe, and you know it.”

He turns his head to glare at her, but she doesn’t meet his gaze.   
~*~  
Enjolras comes back a week later, long enough for Grantaire to start rolling his eyes and cursing the guy out. Damn son of a bitch, lying bastard. 

Not that Grantaire really wants him to come back, but it’d be nice if he could just follow up on his word. 

But then he’s there that night, walking up to Grantaire on his corner. Grantaire watches him, embarrassment creeping up in his chest – he'd just gotten done with a john a few minutes ago, and he still smells like sex. It’s not as though Enjolras doesn’t understand, but still. 

He’s never been in a situation quite like this before. 

“Hey,” Enjolras says. He’s bundled up in a big jacket and mittens. Grantaire wants to laugh, but he doesn’t.

“Hey,” Grantaire replies. He leans against the wall, eyes trained to Enjolras’. After far too long a silence, Grantaire asks, “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Come back to my car,” he says immediately, almost as though he’d been waiting for Grantaire to offer. 

Grantaire shrugs, nods in the correct direction, and follows Enjolras down the road to the car park.

“Here,” Enjolras says as they step up to the little hybrid. Grantaire watches as he opens the boot, digs through a duffle bag, and finally produces a little cardboard box. He hands it to Grantaire, and Grantaire frowns in confusion, turning it over so he can read the label. 

His heart misses a beat when he realises that it’s a HIV test. 

“I just wanted you to have it. I figured you wouldn’t come back to the clinic, but you need to know. So just – there...” Enjolras says, motioning to the box. 

“Okay,” Grantaire says, then adds, “Thanks.”

“Just doing my job.” Enjolras says, shrugging. He turns back to yank open the driver’s side door, and Grantaire watches him, watches the testing kit, watches Enjolras getting into his car...

“Wait,” Grantaire says before Enjolras gets a chance to shut the door. When Enjolras leans out of the car and looks back, Grantaire fumbles for an excuse. “Could you just... uh? How do I use this?”

Enjolras stares at him for a moment, gaze clearly saying ‘you are so full of shit’. And yeah, Grantaire is so full of shit. This is not the first test he’s ever taken. But Enjolras crawls back out of the car anyway, a rather put upon sigh escaping his lips. 

Enjolras does everything for Grantaire – he takes the test out of the package, makes sure it’s set correctly, and tilts Grantaire’s face and mouth up until he can push the test strip up against Grantaire’s gums.

Once he’s finished, he hops up to sit on the trunk of his car, then lays the test down on his thigh. Grantaire watches it as though it may sprout fangs at any moment. 

He doesn’t realise that Enjolras is talking until he’s halfway through the sentence. “...not fair to you,” Enjolras finishes, and Grantaire looks up to meet his gaze. Enjolras stares back for a moment, then says, “This isn’t something that I do, you know? It’s sort of a first. I don’t really know, you know, the ‘rules’.”

“What?” Grantaire asks. “What isn’t something you do? Show people how to take HIV tests?” 

Enjolras chuckles weakly, then shakes his head, “No, that’s a norm,” Enjolras says. “I don’t usually, you know, go cruising the streets trying to find someone to sleep with.”

The blush creeping across Enjolras’ cheeks is heavy enough to see in the dark car park, and while Enjolras doesn’t say as much, Grantaire can read between the lines. “You’ve never fucked a hooker before?” he asks. When Enjolras nods, Grantaire can’t help but chuckle. “I should have known, that first time you came up to me, you were practically about to blow an aneurism.”

“Shut up,” Enjolras says, but he’s smiling all the while. “Actually,” he admits, “I don’t think I’ve ever been that nervous in my life.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “You’re from another planet,” Grantaire tells him, and Enjolras just chuckles in response. Enjolras glances down at the test, but it apparently hasn’t read yet. He sighs and bites his lip, and Grantaire dares to ask, “Why’d you start?”

“Why’d I start what?” Enjolras asks, and Grantaire is pretty sure he’s just trying to avoid the subject. 

“Why’d you come find me?” Grantaire asks. “Why’d you start fucking hookers in the first place?”

“I don’t fuck hookers,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire laughs. “I have sex with a man whom I happen to pay.”

“You are so full of shit,” Grantaire says, full out cackling. Enjolras shakes his head. “You’re fucking a hooker. Just own up to it. That’s what’s happening.”

“Fuck off,” Enjolras says, but it’s not playful. He sounds pissed. Really pissed. Grantaire’s laughter dies in his throat. 

There’s a tense silence, and then Grantaire dares to bring it up again. “If you’re so appalled at fucking hookers – and keep your mouth shut. You can deny it all day long, but you’ve got the pity shit going on. You’re obviously used to being in a relationship. You’re right – you don’t know how this works. But I don’t need you to save me, so stop trying.” 

Enjolras doesn’t answer. He just looks down, evading Grantaire’s gaze and stays quiet. This only infuriates Grantaire, but then Enjolras finally opens his mouth to ask, “If this comes back negative, can we just go back to square one?”

“What’s square one?” Grantaire snaps. Enjolras still doesn’t meet his gaze. “What do you want from me?!”

“I just...” Enjolras says. “I just want to take you home at night. Just, you know, eat, have sex and sleep. Probably in that exact order.”

And Grantaire wants to say, if you want a fuck buddy, go to a club. Or, if you’re lonely, have a friend stay over. Or, most importantly, why me? But what he says is, “if that’s what you want, then – as long as you’re sure this is what you want.”

“I’m sure,” Enjolras says, smiling gently. “And we’ll be careful. That obviously makes you uncomfortable to not use protection for everything.” 

“It should make you uncomfortable.” Grantaire scolds. 

“I’ve had too many close calls in the clinic,” Enjolras says, shrugging. “If I’m going to get something, it’ll be from some creep who wanders in there.” A quiet pause. “This is negative, anyway,” Enjolras adds eventually, motioning to the test. 

Grantaire sighs in heavy relief. It feels as though twenty pounds has been lifted from his shoulders. 

“You’re gorgeous when you smile like that.” Enjolras says. 

Grantaire shakes his head and wants to tell him to shut up, wants to call him ridiculous for using the word ‘gorgeous’. Instead, he lets Enjolras reach out and pull him closer, lets Enjolras kiss the smile on his face. 

“Come on,” Enjolras says once he’s pulled away. He hops off the trunk and heads for the driver’s seat. “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, moving to follow, to get in the passenger seat. 

“Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I uploading this too often? I'd really love feedback if you have time!


	5. a long, lonely december

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the guise of huddling together for warmth, they cuddle quietly. It’s quiet, comfortable, oddly domestic. He hates and loves Enjolras all at once for this.

Grantaire falls into a routine far too easily and far too quickly.

Enjolras picks Grantaire up every night at around eight. At first, Grantaire continues to stand on his corner for a good fifteen, twenty minutes before Enjolras comes to get him. After four days though, he realises that this is completely pointless, that no one comes by that early in the evening, and so he just starts meeting Enjolras at his car in the car park. It makes things simpler for everyone. 

Enjolras doesn’t cook, though Grantaire’s not sure if he doesn’t know how, or if he’s just tired after working a twelve hour shift. They usually stop and get some sort of a take away on the way home. That, or they order a pizza and try to get a quick handjob in before the delivery man comes. 

And yeah, the handjobs are good. The blowjobs are good. The sex is good. It’s all too good, and even though Grantaire argues with himself over it all on a daily basis, he can’t convince himself that he isn’t enjoying the set up. 

He starts picking up on Enjolras’ preference, what he really likes and what doesn’t do much for him, and he does his best to keep Enjolras happy. Not that Enjolras ever complains. He never even tells Grantaire what he wants, never specifically tells him the things that he enjoys, but the man is easy enough to read. He tells Grantaire plenty enough with body language – the way he breathes, the way he moves, those little noises that he makes when Grantaire does something especially good. 

It’s those little noises in the back of Enjolras’ throat that drive Grantaire up the fucking wall, and he subconsciously files away everything that makes him do that. Grantaire quickly figures out that the more wanton, the better. And the more Grantaire enjoys it, the better. 

Enjolras gets off on Grantaire getting off, and it’s possibly the most incredible thing in the world. 

Enjolras has two days off every week – one on a weekday, and one of the weekend – the exact days change from week to week according to Enjolras. But he has Wednesdays and Sundays off for the first two weeks that Grantaire stays with him, and Grantaire comes to wholly love these days. 

On these days, he stays with Enjolras all day long and helps him with those mundane things that no one in their right mind would actually enjoy. But Grantaire hasn’t had a carpet to hoover in years, much less kitchen counters to clean or a shower to scrub. Enjolras occasionally tells him to stop acting like a maid, but mostly he leaves Grantaire be. Grantaire thinks Enjolras understands. 

In fact, Enjolras seems to understand all of Grantaire’s idiosyncrasies in an alarming sort of way. Grantaire tries to keep to himself as much as possible, but finally gives up after a while. It’s nearly impossible to keep things hidden when he’s practically living with the man. 

He comes to this realisation – the fact that he’s suddenly living with Enjolras – about two weeks in. Enjolras takes him back to his corner in the mornings on his way to the clinic, but then they go back to Enjolras’ apartment together at night. Grantaire tries to convince himself that the alley is still his home, that he’s not actually relying on Enjolras for food and shelter and stability. 

Grantaire’s really good at convincing himself of the untrue, but even he can’t quite convince himself of this. 

And he’s not even that surprised when Enjolras brings it up.

“You know,” Enjolras says that night. They’re curled up under the covers, post-coital, not quite cuddling, more just huddling together to stay warm. “You know, you should just say here during the day,” Enjolras says. “I’m not sure why I always take you back there in the mornings. I guess it just sort of became a habit.”

“I can’t,” Grantaire says simply. 

Enjolras gives him the look, the ‘way are you being an asshole?’ look. Grantaire’s become quite acquainted with this look. “Why not?” Enjolras counters innocently. 

“Because I don’t live here,” Grantaire says. “This is your apartment.” 

“Then I’ll rephrase it,” Enjolras amends after a moment, “I’m inviting you to stay at my apartment during the day.”

“Stop being an asshole,” Grantaire tells him, though there’s no bite there. 

Enjolras rolls his eyes, but drops the subject anyway. Silence settles, and Enjolras eventually reaches out under the covers and runs a hand over Grantaire’s hip, eventually moving to cup the back of his thigh and pull gently. Grantaire lets Enjolras pull his leg over his hip, shifts a bit closer to accommodate the position. He presses his hips s forwards to see if Enjolras’ is hard, to see if this is a subtle way of Enjolras asking for a round two. He’s not hard, though, and Enjolras chuckles gently. 

“Easy,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire can’t help but laugh. He hooks his thigh a little tighter around him. “Not sure I could get it up right now, I’m sorry. I’m just sort of tired.”

“Don’t apologise,” Grantaire chides lightly, and then thinks vaguely that this conversation is riding the line of too close, too delicate. He opens his mouth to continue it regardless, “You were working all day.”

Enjolras chuckles in response, squeezes Grantaire’s thigh a little too affectionately.

“I think we’re cuddling,” Grantaire says eventually, then laughs at how stupid he sounds. 

“Maybe,” Enjolras replies, laughing along with him. Grantaire thinks his laugh sounds tired. 

“You off tomorrow?” he asks

“Yeah,” Enjolras answers, a soft smile gracing his lips. “I’ve got Christmas Eve off. It’s unheard of, really.”

“What?” Grantaire asks, but then realises that, “Holy shit, Christmas Eve is tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah,” Enjolras says, and his voice is a little off already. Grantaire waits for it. “I’m going to a party with some friends tomorrow night. It’s nothing big – just spending Christmas Eve together, you know? You should come with me.”

“Don’t start that shit,” Grantaire hisses. 

Enjolras’ silence is long enough that Grantaire thinks he’s actually let it go. But then, “You know something?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire glares. “Just because we – do this...”

“No, we don’t ‘do this’,” Grantaire interrupts. “We fuck. You pay me to fuck. We are not damn boyfriends. Hell, we aren’t even friends!”

Grantaire squirms away, unhooking his leg from around Enjolras’ waist, and Enjolras lets him go. Some part of him wants Enjolras to grab him and keep him where he is, and it’s that part of him that keeps him from leaving the room when Enjolras just rolls away. 

“What?” Grantaire snarls, staring down at where Enjolras is lying on his back, his brown eyes trained to the ceiling in a defeated sort of way. “What?” Grantaire repeats. “You gonna sit and sulk?”

“What?” Enjolras starts, then lets his head loll to the side to meet Grantaire’s gaze. “Why? What have I done? Why do you have to start this all the time?”

“Oh, now don’t go all self-pity on me,” Grantaire snaps. 

This just makes Enjolras turn back to the ceiling, and Grantaire spends a few more seconds gawking angrily at him before turning to leave. He snatches his boxers (or rather, Enjolras’ boxers) up from the floor, and pulls them on as he stomps out into the living room. 

Grantaire grabs a glass of water and plops himself down in front of the television. He channel hops for a while, eventually settling on some late night reruns, and he waits. 

And waits, and waits.

Enjolras always comes back. This is how they operate. Grantaire cops a fit over Enjolras’ ridiculous behaviour, and then Enjolras comes back to him with fake apologies. Or really, not even apologies, more just slight gives, words that make Grantaire feel better about the situation, words that give Grantaire a security that Enjolras isn’t expecting anything out of this. 

Or at least, this is how it’s always been.

When thirty minutes have passed with no sign of Enjolras, Grantaire starts to consider leaving. His clothes are in the bedroom, though, and he really doesn’t want to go in there to see the sulking bastard. But after fifteen more minutes, he decides that sacrifices are sometimes necessary. 

He finds Enjolras curled up on his side in the bed, his eyes closed. Grantiare finds himself rooted to the floor, not quite sure what the feeling is that’s creeping into his chest. 

“Just go if you’re going to go,” Enjolras says after a few moments of silence. Grantaire doesn’t move. “I mean, of course I don’t want you to go. But I don’t know how many times I’ve said that, and you still have some sort of damn complex.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire blurts suddenly, and it’s so sincere it almost hurts. Enjolras opens his eyes finally, regards Grantaire a little guardedly. Pretty eyes, Grantaire thinks. Pretty boy...

“For what?” Enjolras asks, and he sounds like he’s trying to be testy. He’s too tired to pull it off though. “For putting me down? Or for me caring about you?”

“You don’t care about me,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras sighs. “Look I don’t know what I have to do to get this into your head, but you’re a good person. I like spending time with you. You’re a good friend, most of the time.” 

“No,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras makes a noise, something between a groan and a sob, and flops over on the bed, back to Grantaire. Grantaire stares. “Go!” Enjolras says, and he sounds a bit hysterical, like he might be about to cry. 

Grantaire wavers between the bed and the door, and finally says, “I’m not worth it. Don’t - just don’t do this to yourself.”

Enjolras doesn’t answer. Grantaire’s heart beats a frenzied staccato in his chest. 

“Enjolras...” Grantaire says, moving to climb up onto the bed behind Enjolras. He puts a hand on Enjolras’ hip, looking down. Enjolras’ eyes are clenched shut, but he doesn’t try to throw Grantaire off. He’s shaking though, and Grantaire starts to panic. “Enjolras, please, don’t... I’m not worth fucking crying over.” 

“I’m not fucking crying!” Enjolras squawks, though the tone of his voice just makes it more obvious that he is. Grantaire tries to call him an asshole, a damn cry-baby, but all he can feel is the gut-wrenching self-hatred. He’s never heard Enjolras swear before.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, and flops down behind Enjolras, spooning against him. He’s a little relieved when Enjolras doesn’t push him away. “I’m sorry. I’m a fucking bastard. I’m a bitch on wheels. I...” I don’t want to hurt you.

Enjolras is silent at first, but then he says, “bitch on wheels...” Grantaire can hear the watery smile in his voice. He breathes relief into the back of Enjolras’ neck. “I’ve got to remember that one.” 

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, pressing his face a little harder against the back of his neck. He smells like sex. “I’m sorry,” he says again. 

“Don’t,” Enjolras says. “Just, just stay, okay? I like, you know, having you here.” 

“Okay,” Grantaire says, then wonders what has just happened. He realises on some subconscious level that Enjolras is slowly wrapping him around his finger. He reaches a hand out and presses it against Enjolras’ chest, then lets it slide lower, over the soft curve of his belly. He can feel Enjolras breathing. 

Enjolras is lonely, Grantaire suddenly realises, and he pulls Enjolras a little closer. He’s not sure how he hasn’t realised this before now. It’s glaringly obvious. He lives alone (or used to), works a twelve hour shift five days a week, comes home to eat and sleep by himself (or used to), and even though he has two days a week off, Grantaire’s not sure where his friends fit into the equation. Grantaire hasn’t seen Enjolras go out with friends or bring friends back over to the apartment, but then again, he’s sure this is probably because Grantaire himself is there. Grantaire’s not sure what Enjolras’ norm is for his days off, but even if Grantaire weren’t around, things need to get done when Enjolras has time. Clothes don’t wash themselves. The fridge doesn’t restock itself. 

Grantaire wonders why Enjolras is apparently single. All the good ones are supposed to be taken. 

And so Grantaire confirms quietly, “I’ll stay.” 

“Thank you,” Enjolras replies, then sighs. 

Thank you? Grantaire thinks. Then, I will never understand you...  
~*~  
It’s somehow silently understood that Grantaire is going out with Enjolras that night. 

Christmas Eve day is spent at Enjolras’, casual and comfortable. Grantaire cleans that morning, then naps on the couch for a while. Enjolras gets on the computer for a couple of hours, then goes about wrapping a few presents, and finally wakes Grantaire up with heated kisses against the back of his neck. 

They fuck on the couch, Grantaire in Enjolras’ lap, and it’s as good as it always is. Grantaire sometimes struggles towards the end with keeping a rhythm and keeping his thighs from giving out – he's not all that used to this position – but Enjolras is good with him. Enjolras keeps him supported – a hand on his hip and a hand on his stomach – and lets Grantaire lean back against him. 

Grantaire really likes that part of it – leaning back flush against Enjolras, his head thrown back over Enjolras’s shoulder, body stretched up into an arc. Enjolras seems rather fond of it too – he mouths at Grantaire’s exposed throat and leaves love bites on his shoulders. Grantaire always holds on steady once he’s got him there. Enjolras’ mouth on his neck is one of the most amazing things in the world. 

Enjolras hits the shower afterwards, and though it’s never discussed, Grantaire goes with him. They wash together, playfully fighting over shower space, and then they get out to shave together and brush their teeth together and get dressed together. 

Gratnaire realises that they are far too comfortable with each other. 

He also thinks that this is probably what being in a relationship is like. 

Grantaire picks through Enjolras’ clothes until he finds something that looks alright on him, but everything's just that little bit too big, the jeans too long. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and frets over himself. He looks okay, he guesses. He hasn’t done anything with his hair, but it hangs naturally as long as it’s clean. He’s a little pale and a little gaunt, too thin overall, but that’s been the standard for quite a while. His face is the picture of sadness, though he’s not sure if that’s nerves or if that’s just the new normal. He's surprised that the word ‘whore’ is not etched across his forehead. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were as vain as they come,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire looks over to find him leaning against the bathroom doorframe. Grantaire hopes he hasn’t been standing there too long, wonders if he sees the sadness too.

“I’m not vain, I’m just gorgeous.” Grantaire tells him as he leaves the mirror be. Enjolras laughs, then turns and heads for the living room. Grantaire flips the bathroom light off before following Enjolras. 

Grantaire grabs a jacket, Enjolras grabs his keys, and they leave the house a little after six. 

It takes about ten minutes to drive to the party, and Enjolras fills Grantaire in on the bits and pieces of who’s who and what’s what. Apparently, the house party is at this huge place just outside of downtown. According to Enjolras, homeowner and entertainer ‘Courfeyrac’ is all at once completely insane and ridiculously smart. 

“He has more money than God,” Enjolras adds, and Grantaire laughs. 

“What does he do? Where does he work?”

“He’s a pharmacist over at the hospital,” Enjolras says, and once Grantaire has connected the dots, he cracks up laughing. 

“Holy shit, this is the pharmacist? Like, the pharmacist? Like, the supplier of the good shit?” Grantaire asks, grinning. 

“Shut up!” Enjolras says, but he’s grinning as well. “You can’t say anything about that when we’re there, you’ll get a lot of us in a whole lot of trouble.”

“My lips are sealed,” Grantaire says, then can’t help but chuckle some more. “We’re going to hang out with your dealer.”

As it turns out, Courfeyrac is exactly as Enjolras had described him. He’s loud, obnoxious, and already drunk when Enjolras and Grantaire get to the front door. Grantaire thinks he might be the most entertaining thing in the entire world. 

Enjolras seems to know the majority of the people there, but after a quick run through of what Grantaire can only assume are the ‘acquaintances’, they head out of the front hall and into a smaller, cosy den. A small group of people are already clustered around the coffee table playing cards and downing beer. The Muppets Christmas Carol plays on the television in the corner, but everyone is too busy talking and laughing to pay it any mind. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Enjolras says as he crashes into the middle of them all, and he proceeds to sit down on the floor by the couch while everyone shouts hellos and Merry Christmases back at him. Once Enjolras is down, he reaches up and tugs Grantaire down beside him, and while Grantaire can’t say he’s completely comfortable in the midst of all these unfamiliar people, the way Enjolras presses his thigh subtly against Grantaire’s makes something quiet inside him.

“This is my friend, Grantaire.” Enjolras introduces him, and while it’s a neutral introduction, Grantaire can tell that everyone there quickly comes to their own assumptions. He supposes Enjolras must be open about his sexuality. 

Introductions are made all around from there – Jehan, Feuilly, Bossuet, Joly, Marius, and the list goes on... Grantaire’s already lost about halfway through, but it’s Jehan who laughs and says, “And if you can remember all of that in one go, you’re way too good to be in this room.”

Grantaire smiles and accepts the beer Enjolras hands him. Enjolras doesn’t drink, but never seems to mind when he does.

“If Ferre here yet?” Enjolras asks. 

“No, not yet,” Jehan says, checking the small watch on his wrist. “He had to work today, but he said he was coming by once he gets off. About eight o’clock-ish I think.”

It becomes oddly comfortable as time goes by. They talk, laugh, and gossip and Enjolras’ friends seem to be the sort that naturally take to fresh faces and new voices. Grantaire doesn’t have to work to stay involved in the conversations that go by – everyone is quick to include him, and by some stretch of the imagination, they all seem to at least somewhat enjoy his company. 

Combeferre makes his entrance a little before nine, and the first thing he does is sink down next to Enjolras. “Courfeyrac wants to dance, but I’ve been on my feet all day so he’ll be in here to ambush you any minute.” 

“It’s not my job to dance with Courf, it’s yours.” Enjolras complains, then looks across at Grantaire with a bit of a panicked expression. “I’m here with someone,” Enjolras finally says, and with that, Combeferre’s head whirls around to look. 

It’s suddenly very quiet, and all eyes in the room are on Grantaire. His skin crawls nervously. “Hi,” He says, waving his hand, and he sounds and looks like a idiot, but whatever. 

“Hey!” Combeferre says, the word long and drawn out. He stares, silently assessing Grantaire. He's not sure if Combeferre can remember him from that day at the clinic, or if he's even recognisable. 

“Grantaire,” he says, extending his hand, and he takes it gracefully with a smile. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says, then turns around to look at Enjolras. Grantaire wishes he could see his facial expression at that moment. 

And suddenly, in thumps a big and unfortunately very familiar face. Grantaire shuts his mouth suddenly, and looks up at Bahorel with an only half-concealed horrified expression.

Bahorel stares back at Grantaire, and then says, “Why the fuck is he here?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck... Grantaire thinks. 

And once again, all eyes are on Grantaire, but Grantaire can’t formulate an answer. 

“He’s a friend,” Enjolras says, looking a bit testy. Grantaire would find it cute that Enjolras was being defensive about him, but he’s too busy trying not to shit his pants. 

There’s a tense silence, and then Bahorel looks quite pointedly at Enjolras. “A word, if you don’t mind?” he asks. 

Enjolras glares, then glances back at Grantaire as though unsure about leaving him. “Go,” Grantaire says quickly. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Okay,” Enjolras says, “if you’re sure.” Enjolras himself doesn’t really look sure about it, but Grantaire nods quickly. Enjolras follows Bahorel out, glancing back at Grantaire once before leaving the room. Grantaire immediately starts looking for an excuse to leave. 

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Combeferre says with a frown, looking back at where his friends just left the room. No one answers him. 

“So,” Jehan says, blatantly changing the subject. Grantaire meets his gaze, and with no subtlety, he asks, “Are you two friends? Or more?”

“Jehan!” Someone snaps. 

“What?” Jehan asks, turning to his friend. “Honest question.”

“Do you even need to ask?” Marius puts in. 

“Friends,” Grantaire answers, voice flat. 

Marius scoffs. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” Someone – Bossuet? - deals out another set, obviously ignoring the conversation.

“I’m glad to see him happy,” Jehan says. “I don’t think I’ve seen him like this in a while.”

“Yeah,” Combeferre agrees, although his voice sound reluctant. “It’s good for him. You’re good for him.” 

“Uh, thanks.” Grantaire says, and suddenly has the urge to ask them what exactly they mean. He keeps his mouth shut, though, and sits uncomfortably through the silence. 

Enjolras comes back a few minutes later, quite a bit paler than Grantaire’s used to see him. Grantaire sees his chance to escape. 

“You okay?” Grantaire asks, feigning real concern. He’s a good actor. “You’re not looking so hot.”

“I'm not feeling well,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire groans internally. Enjolras is not a very good actor. “Do you mind if we head home?”

“No, not at all,” Grantaire says, already pushing himself up from the floor. 

“I’m sorry, guys,” Enjolras says, and everyone there shakes their head, telling him it’s okay and that they hope he feels better. With that, they go to head out the door. 

Grantaire can hear Combeferre’s voice on his way out. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m definitely missing something.”

Grantaire doesn’t bring it up on the way back, and neither does Enjolras. They drive home in silence, the sounds of the car engine almost deafening. 

“I'm sorry,” Enjolras says quietly once they’re inside. 

Grantaire throws his coat over the back of the couch and snaps, “Whatever. Forget about it.”

“No, I’m so sorry,” Enjolras insists, and when Grantaire turns to meet those devastated brown eyes, he almost gives in. Almost.

“He’s fucking cop, and you knew that!” Grantaire snaps. “Do you know how many times he has carted me down to the police station? Do you know how many times he's laughed while he's thrown me in a cell because, to him, I am the absolute scum of the earth? Fucking Bahorel, Mr High and Mighty." 

“I didn’t know he patrolled there,” Enjolras interrupts. Grantaire sighs, rolls his eyes. “Grantaire, please.”

“I don’t care where you thought he patrolled. The fact is, he’s a cop,” Grantaire says. “He could have carted me off right there.”

“He was off duty.” Enjolras tries, grasping at straws. 

“Yeah, and you’re an asshole,” Grantaire says. He grabs at his hair. “I - I can’t do this right now. I’m going to bed.” 

“Okay,” Enjolras says softly, which somehow only infuriates Grantaire more. He nods curtly, then stomps off to the bedroom.   
~*~  
Grantaire’s not sure when he went to sleep – he was so on edge that he hadn’t even been sure he’d be able to – but he wakes up to a warm body behind him. He’s torn between guilt at being a moody, finger-pointing bastard, and that residual anger still burning. 

Ever since Enjolras has come into his life, Grantaire has felt as though he is riding a rollercoaster. He’s getting tired of the ups and down. 

Grantaire shrugs away, about to turn over and tell Enjolras to get the hell off of him, but Enjolras lets him go without a fight. Grantaire turns over anyway, looks Enjolras in the eyes, and says, “What the hell is your problem?”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras repeats, and Grantaire’s getting really tired of hearing that. “I didn’t mean - I’m not sure what else you want me to say.” 

Grantaire’s only answer is a drawn out, exasperated sigh. 

“You’re - you’re safe,” Enjolras says hesitantly. Grantaire meets his eyes. “Bahorel just, he told me what you did – I think he just thought I didn’t know. But he isn’t going to say anything. Not to the police or any friends. He promised.” 

“I don’t put much stock in promises anymore,” Grantaire says. “Seen one too many of them broken.”

Enjolras doesn’t answer. 

“Doesn’t this bother you at all?” Grantaire finally asks. “I mean, now you’ve got a reputation.”

“Bahorel said he wouldn’t say anything,” Enjolras interrupts. “And I trust him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grantaire says, waving this aside as inconsequential. “But still, Bahorel knows and has judged you already. And don’t tell me he isn’t going to tell anyone, your friendship circle is huge. I know how this shit works.”

“I trust him,” Enjolras says again, sternly.

“Well, that makes one of us.” Grantaire says, but the fight is dying in him. He lets Enjolras lay a hand on his chest after a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says again. 

“Stop fucking apologising,” Grantaire snaps with a little more bite than he’d intended. Enjolras watches him, eyes a bit wide. Grantaire shakes his head, then puts his hand on top of Enjolras’, holding on lightly. ”I’m more trouble than I’m worth,” he says eventually. “I’m waiting for you to figure that out.”

“You’ve said that before,” Enjolras answers. “I still don’t believe you.” 

“Why?” Grantaire asks. He’s not really sure exactly what he’s asking.

Enjolras shrugs. Maybe he knows, maybe he doesn’t. “I like having you here,” he finally decides.

“You’ve said that before, and I still don’t believe you,” Grantaire mocks, and Enjolras rolls his eyes, pinches the skin on Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire squirms in an attempt to hide the fact that he’s ticklish. 

“Can we just leave it?” Enjolras asks eventually. “Leave it like it is? Like this? Do we have to analyse it?”

Grantaire doesn’t answer. 

“Grantaire?”

“You’re the one putting a roof over my head and keeping me clean and fed. I don’t have the right to an opinion as far as this is concerned.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “You’re not just a prostitute, you know,” he says. “You’re still a human being.”

“Then it is what it is,” Grantaire says, mostly because this is obviously the answer Enjolras wants. Enjolras watching him a little warily. Pretty brown eyes... “What happened to you?” Grantaire finally asks. He can’t help himself. “Why are you so fucking lonely that you've picked up a whore to keep as personal company? I don’t understand. You should, you know, have a guy here or something. A real guy...” 

“I did,” Enjolras says, cutting Grantaire off. “It didn’t work.”

“Girls?”

“Pfft,” Enjolras says, and he grins for the first time since they’ve been home. It relieves the tension in Grantaire’s chest. “Girls? You’ve been having sex with me, what do you think?”

“Okay,” Grantaire says, chuckling. “Point taken.” A slight pause, then, “Why not someone else? There’s not only one fish in the sea. You deserve better than this.”

“You don’t understand,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire can tell that this is a subtle way of saying, ‘drop it’.

And so he does. 

“I’m tired,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire doesn’t reply, he just repositions himself while Enjolras curls a little closer. 

Under the guise of huddling together for warmth, they cuddle quietly. It’s quiet, comfortable, oddly domestic. He hates and loves Enjolras all at once for this. 

Grantaire never forgets what he does. 

Enjolras makes him forget every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would really be appreciated, if you have time!


	6. there is a life to save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras smiles, and Grantaire can see him blushing even in the dark. He reaches out to kiss Enjolras, even though he doesn’t kiss people.
> 
> Enjolras is an exception.

When Grantaire wakes up Christmas morning, he’s alone in Enjolras’ bed. 

When he gets up, ventures out into the rest of the apartment, and realises that Enjolras is gone, he begins to panic. 

But then his brain catches up with his paranoia, and he realises that Enjolras hadn’t said anything about having Christmas Day off. People still get ill and hurt even on holidays – no rest for the weary, Grantaire thinks. And even if Enjolras wanted Grantaire out of the picture, it’s not as though Enjolras would be the one to leave. He’d politely show Grantaire to the door and shove him through it. 

He spends the morning on the couch watching the holiday festivities on tv, and he doesn’t realise until around two in the afternoon that his is at Enjolras’ apartment. During the day. Without Enjolras there. When he should be at his alley. 

Later, he won’t be able to pick out a reason for it. Pride. Fear. Stubbornness. Anger. They’re all viable and startlingly applicable. 

He calls a taxi to take him back to his alley.

It’s not like Enjolras won’t come and get him once he realises that Grantaire’s left. 

At least, this is what he tells himself.

He grabs a pack of cigarettes from the corner shop, and then sits on the pavement outside his alley and smokes. He watches the assortment of people walk by. He makes up stories about them in his head. He becomes increasingly bored as the minutes tick by.

He’s used to sleeping during the majority of the day, then working at night. Somehow, though, this internal clock has been switched around. He sleeps late still, but not like he used to. And he has nothing to do now. Enjolras takes care of everything. All Grantaire can do is wait.

And wait he does. The streetlights flash on, and Grantaire waits. The sun fully sets, and Grantaire waits. The girls across the road walk out to their corner, and Grantaire waits. 

He waits until a car pulls up to the curb and rolls down the window. One of his old regulars leans an arm on the doorframe and leers at Grantaire. He suddenly remembers how much he hates being looked at like that. 

“Where have you been, handsome?” the guy asks, and Grantaire wants to laugh. The guy’s middle-aged – a little dumpy with a receding hairline – and Grantaire wonders how he can’t know how cliché he sounds. 

“Otherwise occupied,” Grantaire says, stubbing his cigarette out on the concrete next to him. He gets up even though he doesn’t want to, even though what he’s about to do it making him feel sick. 

“Got room for some distraction?” the guy asks.

“Always,” Grantaire says, faking a cheeky grin. He crawls into the passenger seat, and they drive off.

He parks in a dirt lot a couple of roads away from Grantaire’s alley, and he fucks Grantaire there. He pushes the passenger seat back, and Grantaire splays himself down onto it, ass in the air, showing himself off like Enjolras likes. 

“Little slut,” the guy says, and Grantaire suddenly remembers that this isn’t Enjolras. Enjolras doesn’t call him a slut. Or a whore. Or a dirty, naughty boy. No cheesy lines that these other guys have obviously picked up from one too many pornos. 

The only thing that gets him through it, though, is Enjolras. He tries to keep Enjolras in his mind, to convince himself that he’s not actually doing this. But the guy doesn’t feel like Enjolras, doesn’t fuck him like Enjolras, doesn’t move or breathe or touch him like Enjolras. 

He’s glad he’s facing down, away from the guy. He’s not sure the guy would appreciate being grimaced at the entire time. 

It’s almost midnight when the guy drops him back off at his alley, and when Grantaire goes to let himself out of the car, he finds a handful of money in his face. 200 euros worth, precisely. Twice the pay. Like Enjolras.

“Merry Christmas,” the guy says, smiling like he thinks this will impress Grantaire. Grantaire flies off the handle – he can’t even help it. 

“Merry fucking Christmas, asshole. Glad you spent it with your family,” Grantaire snarls, then slams the door in his face. 

He doesn’t look back to see the guy’s reaction. He just makes a beeline for his alley, for his couch. 

His couch has been hauled away. Probably to the tip. 

He paces his alley for a while. His skin is crawling. He feels sick. He’s dirty. He’s nasty. He’s worthless. He left Enjolras. He let someone else fuck him. He can’t live with himself...

Grantaire doesn’t cry. He is unbreakable. His life is what it is. You can’t knock him down. 

Yet he eventually slumps down against the wall, presses his face into his hands, and swallows back the tears that he has no idea what to do with.  
~*~  
The girls find him the next morning. He’s sitting on the sidewalk where he always does, bundled up in the huge, tacky jacket of Enjolras’ that he left with the day before. He feels like shit.

“What happened to you last night?” the tall one says, looking down at him in concern.

“Hell, what has happened to you this entire month?” the short one amends.

“Stupidity,” Grantaire answers. He bangs his head backwards against the wall. “Stupidity happened.”

“It has to do with Sugar Daddy, doesn’t it?” the short one says, flopping down beside him. She leans her head on his shoulder.

Grantaire doesn’t answer.

“It’s okay,” the tall one says. “It happened to me one time. You think you’ve found a way out, someone to ‘save you’, you know. Or whatever. At least think you’ve found something real.” She pauses, and Grantaire can tell that whatever has happened to her is still weighing on her shoulders. Her hair blows a bit in the breeze. “And then he just never shows up again,” she finishes, and shrugs.

“Stupidity,” Grantaire repeats, because on some deep level, he knows Enjolras won’t leave him.

At least, he won’t leave Grantaire if Grantaire won’t leave him. 

“You’ll get back on your feet eventually,” the short one says. She wraps a delicate hand around his arm and squeezes it gently, supportive. It’s an oddly Enjolras sort of move. Grantaire wants to cry some more.  
The girls settle in doing what they do best: talking about nonsense. Grantaire imagines taking them both hostage, hi-jacking a car, and heading to Mexico. They could be each other’s company and wile their days away serving fruity drinks on the beach. It’d be an awesome set-up. 

Except Enjolras...

The girls eventually get up, announcing that they’re hungry. They ask Grantaire to come with them, but he declines. He tells them he’s not hungry, which isn’t a complete lie. 

Mostly, though, he’s beginning to realise that Enjolras maybe does have him wrapped around his little finger. That maybe he should just do whatever Enjolras wants. Just leave it be. He’s been happy, even if he’s denied it every day. Enjolras makes him happy. 

He likes Enjolras. Maybe not like likes him. It’s not love, or romance, or forevers. But Enjolras is a friend. He makes Grantaire smile. He gives Grantaire security. He makes Grantaire think things he knows he shouldn't, but loves anyway. 

He wonders what Enjolras had done when he’d gotten home Christmas night to find Grantaire gone. Grantaire’s hurt him, that much he can figure out. He wonders if Enjolras has finally given up. Hell, Grantaire sort of hopes he has. It’d be better for him. Maybe he’d finally get some peace of mind. 

Except Grantaire’s heart is somewhere else. 

Precisely, it’s ten minutes away at the clinic on the corner. 

He has to do something. He just doesn’t know what. Or how.

He gets up, and he starts walking.  
~*~  
The clock on the wall reads five fifteen when he steps into the clinic. Combeferre is at the front desk, a chart laid out of the desk in front of him. Enjolras stands next to him staring down at the chart. He’s absently twirling a syringe around in his hand. Grantaire wonders if there’s an actual needle on the end of that. 

“I don’t like the record,” Enjolras says, pointing to something on the chart. “The whole thing is sketchy.” 

“No, I hear you,” Combeferre says, then happens to glance up and see Grantaire. “Hey!” He says, his face brightening up instantly. “Grantaire’s here,” Combeferre tells Enjolras needlessly. He's already looking over.  
His expression is cold as ice. 

“Hey,” Grantaire says. He has no idea what else to say, Combeferre’s presence aside. 

“I’m working,” Enjolras tells him quite plainly. In simpler terms, this means ‘get the fuck out’.

“Oh come on,” Combeferre says, rolling his eyes. “You get off in, what – an hour and some?”

“I’ll wait, it’s okay,” Grantaire says quickly. 

“Just go, Enjolras. You’re covered here. It’s been quiet anyway,” Combeferre says. He turns his attention to Grantaire. “Take him out to dinner or something. He needs to get out.” 

“Ferre...” Enjolras says, cutting his eyes over to him. 

“What?” He says, looking at him in exasperation. “This conversation is over,” Combeferre finally decides. “You’re leaving,” he says, and promptly pushes Enjolras towards the door. “Have a good time,” he tells him, and then heads into the back towards the exam rooms. 

Enjolras glares at Grantaire. 

“Please,” Grantaire says. “I just want to talk. I dunno – I just – I dunno...”

“I don’t want to talk,” Enjolras says simply. “As far as I’m concerned, this is over.”

“No, please,” Grantaire says, but Enjolras is already headed for the door. “Just, please. Just give me a chance.” 

“I’ve given you millions of chances,” Enjolras says. Then, “You left on Christmas, you realise that? Not only did you leave after you promised me that you wouldn’t, but you left on Christmas.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, but Enjolras has already walked out of the door. Grantaire panics and then hits the door after him. 

Grantaire trots after him, begging and pleading, apologising with ever breath, unsure of what else to do. He doesn’t find the right words until they’re all the way to the car park. 

Enjolras is fishing his keys out of the pocket of his scrubs when Grantaire suddenly blurts, “I - fuck, I want to be with you. You’ve - I haven’t been this happy in my entire life. You make me smile. You make me happy. You give me a fucking reason to get up in the morning. And I know that I’m a dirty piece of shit that you picked up on the side of the street, and I know you don’t really care about me. But I’ll give you company. I’ll stay, I promise. I really promise.” 

Enjolras pauses with his keys in his hand. He doesn’t go to click the unlock button. He finally says, “don’t call yourself that, it's degrading.” 

“What?” Grantaire says. 

“You’re not a dirty piece of shit,” Enjolras says. He doesn’t turn around. He stays facing the car. Grantaire fidgets behind him. 

“It’s the truth,” he says, and then for some reason blurts, “I whored again last night. After everything. I was waiting for you, and then the guy pulled up, and I just – I knew you were already gone.”

“Then why are you here?” Enjolras asks. 

“Because,” Grantaire says, and realises he’s not really sure. He just - “Wasn’t ready to give up,” he answers. 

Enjolras doesn’t say anything. 

“I was stupid,” Grantaire says. “It was just – I haven’t been treated like this before. And I know I don’t deserve it from you, especially after everything I’ve done to you, and I know I’m being selfish for wanting it. But you treat me like you actually care about me or something. You don’t call me a slut or a whore, and hell, you put a roof over my head for no reason whatsoever that I can figure out. And you’ve never pushed me around or slapped me around...” 

“I would never do that to you,” Enjolras interrupts immediately, and there is such force in his voice that Grantaire don’t even know what to say. ”You don’t touch someone to hurt them. I would never...”

“I know,” Grantaire says. “I know.”

Enjolras turns slowly, looking down at Grantaire with an expression that Grantaire can’t even place. 

“Your eyes,” Grantaire says. Then, “I don’t even know...”

Enjolras closes the distance and wraps his arms around him. He presses his cheek against the top of Grantaire’s head, and Grantaire can feel him breathing. Grantaire brings his arms around him too, both arms wrapped around the small of his back. He holds on so tight that he might be hurting him, but Enjolras doesn’t say anything, he just presses closer, holds on just as tight. 

“I should have realised,” Enjolras says eventually, voice muffled against Grantaire’s hair. “After everything you’ve - I should have known you’d fight me every step of the way. I just started to think that you wanted away, wanted out. But after everything – I don’t even want to know what you’ve been through. I’m not sure I could handle it.”

Enjolras raises his head and pulls back slightly, and Grantaire can take a hint. He’s quick to kiss, quick to let Enjolras suck on his bottom lip and lick into his mouth. He tilts his head to the side and cups Enjolras’ cheek in his hand. 

“Excuse me,” someone says, and Grantaire jerks away to find a woman looking at them. She has a purse on her arm and a disgusted look on her face. 

“Oh, get over yourself,” Enjolras tells her, then unlocks the car. He diverts his attention to Grantaire. “Come on, let’s go home,” he says casually. 

Grantaire smirks at the woman, then moves to the passenger side. 

“God, I hate people like that,” Enjolras says loudly before Grantaire shuts his door. The woman snaps her head around at them, and Grantaire promptly shuts the door. 

“You put her in her place,” Grantaire says. “You did good.” 

Enjolras starts the engine, then glances over as Grantaire buckles himself in. “I want to fuck you so bad right now,” Enjolras says quite plainly.

Grantaire grins, mostly because Enjolras’ voice is honest and not for show. That, and it makes heat curl low in Grantaire’s stomach. 

“Get me home,” Grantaire says, stretching out a bit in his seat because Enjolras will probably like this. Enjolras watches him and obviously does. “Get me home,” Grantaire repeats, “and I’m all yours.”  
~*~  
“You like to watch, don’t you?” Grantaire asks.

He’s sprawled out on his back, head cushioned on a pillow, his legs spread out as far as he can get them. Enjolras is rocked back on his haunches, legs tucked underneath him. He has two slick fingers curled inside of Grantaire, relentlessly rubbing at that spot, and he hasn’t taken his eyes off of those fingers since he’s started.

He flicks his eyes up to Grantaire’s face with that, though, and grins a dirty little smile before he twists his fingers even harder. Grantaire grunts, and his hips curl up toward his belly against his will. He’s so fucking hard, and his stomach is wet with precome, and he wants…

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he finally moans, “just get on with it…”

“What’d you want?” Enjolras asks innocently. Grantaire glares for a moment before his eyes drop to Enjolras’ cock. He’s hard as all hell too.

“Do you need a written invitation?” Grantaire snaps. Enjolras grins, twists his fingers again. “Fuck me,” he finally groans, because being wanton is apparently the only way he’s going to get what he wants.

Not as though he minds as far as Enjolras is concerned. Grantaire’s grown to love wanton as much as Enjolras does.

“Fuck me,” he repeats, and moves his legs to push his heels against the small of Enjolras’ back. Enjolras laughs. It’s breathless and sexy.

Enjolras eases his fingers out slowly, rubbing his fingers against him as he squirms at the emptiness. “I know,” he mumbles quietly, moving over Grantaire to grab the condom off of the nightstand. He presses a wet kiss to the side of Grantaire’s neck before he slides back down to sit between Grantaire’s legs.

Grantaire watches with hazy eyes as he rolls on the condom and slicks himself up. He runs more lube against Grantaire before tossing the bottle away and hitching Grantaire's legs up and around his waist. He lines himself up and pushes in slow, eyes watching himself as he sinks in. Grantaire watches his face, eventually lifting his hips a bit until the angle’s better. Enjolras eases back a fraction of an inch and then slides in balls deep. Grantaire sighs.

Enjolras raises his eyes to meet Grantaire’s face, and Grantaire gives him a dirty little smirk. “You like to watch,” Grantaire says, a statement this time rather than a question. Enjolras chuckles, and then makes a little ‘mmm’ sort of noise. He slides his hands down Grantaire’s thighs, then back up.

“You good?” Enjolras asks, pulling Grantaire’s hips a little higher.

“Better than good,” Grantaire answers. A stretches up until he hands knock against the headboard, then relaxes again.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says, and starts an easy rhythm, rocking against him, rocking into him. Grantaire lets Enjolras hold his hips and keep the angle. He holds onto the bedsheets on either side of him, and watches Enjolras, watches the way he moves, watches the look on his face.

Enjolras eventually leans down over him, resting his forearms on either side of Grantaire’s body. Grantaire moves his hands to hold onto Enjolras’s shoulder blades, hooks his legs a little higher around Enjolras’s waist to accommodate the new position. Enjolras pulls back and slides home right against Grantaire’s prostate, and Grantaire’s body arches and trembles as he stays there against him. Enjolras leans down to kiss, and Grantaire shakily reciprocates.

Enjolras gives a breathy chuckle as he pulls back and starts a rhythm again. Grantaire lets his head loll to the side and closes his eyes. “That feels good?” Enjolras asks, like Grantaire’s going to say no or something…  
“Fuck, yeah,” Grantaire mumbles. He lets his head loll to the other side and keeps eyes contact with Enjolras.

He doesn’t last long after that. Enjolras’s belly rubs against his cock with each thrust, and he’s eventually holding onto the small of Enjolras’s back and thrusting against him as much as Enjolras is thrusting into him.  
When Grantaire arches up off the bed and starts cursing, Enjolras holds still and lets Grantaire rub his orgasm out against his belly. He comes hard, so good it’s almost painful, and as he relaxes back into the bed, he’s so spent he’s not sure he could even move.

Enjolras pulls out slowly, pushing his fingers against him and rubbing once he’s out. Grantaire’s never had anyone do this to him before. It eases that unpleasant, empty feeling. Enjolras does it every time.

Enjolras pulls the condom off and lobs it at the trashcan, then sidles closer to Grantaire and jerks himself off over Grantaire’s belly. Grantaire watches, watches the way his thighs shake as he comes, watches the way he comes into his hand, watches the way his semen drips down onto Grantaire’s belly. He slides his hand through the cum streaked there, and says, “Fuck, yeah.”

Enjolras smiles, eyes a little glazed over, obviously still coming down from his orgasm. Grantaire reaches up and pulls him down to kiss. It’s lazy and languid, and Grantaire could do this forever.

Later, after they’ve cleaned up and curled together under the covers, Enjolras says, “You’ve never been like that before.”

“What?” Grantaire asks.

“You were like – I dunno,” Enjolras says. “You were completely and utterly out of it.”

Grantaire twists in the bed so he can better look at Enjolras. Enjolras meets his gaze with those brown eyes. “Your eyes,” Grantaire says. “They drive me fucking insane.”

Enjolras smiles, and Grantaire can see him blushing even in the dark. He reaches out to kiss Enjolras, even though he doesn’t kiss people.

Enjolras is an exception.

When he goes to pull away, Enjolras follows him and doesn’t let him go. Grantaire gets uncomfortable almost immediately, but maybe Enjolras understands. He lets him go easily. “You hungry?” Enjolras asks after a moment.

“Yeah,” Grantaire answers. “Pretty much.”

“We’ll order a pizza,” Enjolras says, rolling over and up from the bed. Grantaire stares at his naked ass before Enjolras pulls his boxers on.

“Do they even deliver at this time of night?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras glances at the clock. “It’s only nine,” Enjolras says.

“Oh,” he says. “It feels later.”

“You’re just tired,” Enjolras says. “Judging by the bags under your eyes, I’m going to say you didn’t sleep much while you were on your solo escapade.”

Grantaire doesn’t say anything, he just swings up out of bed and puts his boxers on. He can see Enjolras staring at his ass out of his peripheral.

“You want your usual?” Enjolras asks.

“Yeah,” Grantaire says with a smile. “Yeah the usual.”

Grantaire just smiles, and thinks that he’d like to close the distance and hug Enjolras. Then decides that maybe he’ll let himself do just that.

Enjolras sighs and leans back against him, and Grantaire rests his head on Enjolras’s shoulder.

Yes, Grantaire thinks. Yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is very welcome! Thank you for reading!


	7. you matter to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So it’s my fault,” Grantaire finishes. “If I’d just gotten my shit together, I wouldn’t be here. But I just kept digging this hole, and it’s my fault. And then, I shouldn’t have taken that fifty euros, but it was just such an easy way out. But – but I did, and that’s why I’m here.”

“You have a lot of tattoos,” Enjolras says.

It’s a couple of days after New Years, late in the evening, and they’ve ended up where they always seem to end up – in bed, under the covers, naked and spent from sex. They’re spooning, Enjolras’ back tucked into the curve of Grantaire’s chest and stomach, Grantaire’s arm thrown across Enjolras’ side. Enjolras runs his fingers lazily up Grantaire’s forearm, tracing the designs spread across his skin.

“Where’d you get all these? And if you got them on the streets, please just lie…”

Grantaire laughs. “I got most of them when I was younger,” he says truthfully. “Before all of this. My dad took me whenever I wanted one when I was in school. He’d sign for me and shit.”

“That’s nice,” Enjolras says. “My parents wouldn’t have let me. I was raised Catholic.”

Grantaire can’t help but laugh. “Bible study didn’t take?”

“Shut up,” Enjolras says, but he’s laughing. “I tried to read the bible a lot when I was still in my denial phase.” This only makes Grantaire laugh more. “What? Stop laughing!” Enjolras squawks, but as he rolls over on his back, he’s grinning wide. Grantaire keeps laughing.

“Denial…” he drawls, rolling his eyes. “Denial doesn’t exist.”

“Bullshit,” Enjolras says, still laughing. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t exist. I went my two first years of university with nothing, just because I didn’t want to take that huge jump from girls to guys, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Grantaire says, grinning. He reaches a hand out absently and lays it down on Enjolras’s cheek. Enjolras moves just enough to nip at the underside of his knuckles, and Grantaire curls his fingers a bit.

“So, what?” Enjolras says after a moment. “You just knew? You just popped out of the womb and said, ‘I’m gay!’”

Grantaire cracks up. “Nah, I guess my parents were just really open-minded,” he says. “Maybe too open-minded, I don’t know. I fooled around with guys and girls back then. And my parents totally knew – not that I ever said anything – but they knew. They’d make snarky comments all the time, but I never got in trouble.” He grins, thinking back on it. “Good times, good times…”

“Sounds like they’re good to you,” Enjolras says, and he turns those brown, inquisitive eyes up to meet Grantaire’s gaze. Grantaire can tell he’s digging, and Grantaire can feel himself getting defensive.

He bites snappish words back and just doesn’t answer.

“Where’re they now?” Enjolras asks. “I mean, if you’re dad took you out all the time – you know? It just sounds like you’re close to them.”

“And so what you’re really asking is – why the hell are they letting me spread my legs on the streets for money?” Grantaire says, scowling. And he knows Enjolras didn’t mean anything by it, he knows. He just supposes old habits, as well as bad attitudes, die hard.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay,” Enjolras says quickly, and Grantaire watches as he retreats into himself a tiny bit. He feels guilty almost immediately. Or maybe he’s just really tired of keeping this hidden, really tired of not talking about. Maybe he wants to talk about it. Except he really doesn’t.

“You don’t want to know,” Grantaire says eventually. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” Enjolras says quietly. “We’ve got time.”

“It’s not your problem to deal with,” Grantaire says. “You deal with all of my other problems. You don’t need this one.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire suddenly wishes the guy wasn’t so accommodating and non-confrontational. “Just, if you ever need to vent or unload or whatever…”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good,” Enjolras says. He tucks in closer to Grantaire again, curling up against him.

They cuddle. Grantaire will admit it. It’s taken him a full month to admit it, but they cuddle.

Maybe in another month, he’ll admit just how much he likes it.  
~*~  
Enjolras goes to work the next morning, and Grantaire goes about his daily routine. He showers and grabs something to eat and plays solitaire on the computer for a while. He does a load of laundry, empties the dishwasher, and vacuums the floor. He eats again, watches tv, and plays video games.

Except on this morning, Grantaire thinks about his parents the entire day. He thinks about Enjolras the entire day. He wonders what the hell has happened to himself, and why he’s deserved any of this, the bad or the good.

He’s in a heavy state of depression when Enjolras hits the door. Grantaire gives him a forced grin from where he’s lying on the couch in the dark, the only light coming from the television screen. He’s been watching a Lifetime movie, which is probably not the best thing he could be watching for his own peace of mind, but whatever…

“What, did I forget to pay the electricity bill?” Enjolras asks jokingly, and flips the light switch on as he goes by. Grantaire winces at the sudden brightness, and doesn’t answer.

Enjolras lays his keys down on the kitchen counter, gets a glass of water, and roots about in the fridge. Grantaire sits and stares at the television. He hears Enjolras start talking about something, but doesn’t process a single word.

“…and I was just like, ‘are you serious, woman?’ Guh!” Enjolras finishes, and Grantaire looks up from the couch at him. He’s pulled his scrub top off – the blue medical material hanging over his arm – but he’s still wearing the t-shirt from underneath. The shirt is a little too clingy, and there’s a stain on the hem that could be vomit or blood or urine, that could be fresh from today or a leftover stain that hadn’t come out in the washer. He’s pale and obviously exhausted.

He might be the most beautiful thing Grantaire has ever seen.

“You okay?” Enjolras asks, frowning down at Grantaire.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Grantaire says. Enjolras narrows his eyes, unimpressed by the lie. Grantaire changes the subject to one of the many things he’s suddenly been wondering about. “Remember that day I came into the clinic?” Grantaire asks. “When that guy had thrown me up against the wall and shit? And my head was all black and blue?”

Enjolras nods, still frowning. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he says.

“And you brought me back here to give me pain meds? You said you couldn’t give them out there because of the druggies?” Grantaire continues. Enjolras continues to nod. “Why did you--?” Grantaire starts. “How did you know that I wasn’t a druggie?”

“Because you didn’t ask for any meds when you were there,” Enjolras says as though this is completely obvious. Grantaire supposes this is sound logic. He turns back to the television and chews at his bottom lip.

“You haven’t brought anyone else back here,” Grantaire points out. “To, you know, gives them meds.”

Enjolras is quiet for a moment, and then says, “I normally don’t bring them back here.” Grantaire looks up at him again, a little disbelieving and a little shocked. Enjolras continues, “I usually take them to the clinic the next day, and tell them to meet me there. It’s a little more risky as far as getting caught, but I don’t really want a lot of them knowing where I live.”

“Then why me?” is the only thing Grantaire can come up with. Then, “Was it because you’d been fucking me?”

Enjolras’s quiet again, and then admits, “That was part of it.”

Grantaire groans. “You act like you fucking owe me something,” Grantaire snaps. “You don’t – you were paying me out the ass at that time. And now you’re letting me live here like I’m a roommate or something. And I don’t contribute to the pay at all…”

“I did owe you,” Enjolras says. “I owed you protection…”

“It is not your job to protect me!” Grantaire says. He’s almost squalling, and he recognizes this. He doesn’t really care. “Just because you’d been fucking me didn’t make it your job to…”

“It wasn’t – the sex really wasn’t,” Enjolras pauses, trying to find the words. “I’m not sure you realized how bad you were at the time. In fact, I know you didn’t. You were white as a sheet and wobbling around on the exam bed. You had no sense of balance whatsoever. And your speech was a little off, like you might have had a seizure and hadn’t completely come around. And the muscles in your chest kept spasming, which is a textbook sign of neurological trauma…” He trails off, and Grantaire can only stare. “I kept praying the actual doctor would get back,” Enjolras continues. “I mean, I’m trained to handle that sort of thing, but not like an actual M.D. is. I kept waiting for you to go down, to pass out or have a seizure or something. I figured it was inevitable. And I’m not even sure how you got yourself down to the clinic, much less pushed yourself all the way back to that corner. When I realized you were gone, I was already prepared to call an ambulance when I found you. If you’d even made it back…”

Grantaire’s silent. He has no idea what to say or think.

“That’s mostly why I brought you back here,” Enjolras finishes. “I wanted to be there in case you took a turn for the worse. But you pulled through – I still have no idea how, but… I guess you’re just a fighter. When you were okay that next morning, I knew you’d be okay by yourself – it’d been long enough. If you were going to have major problems you’d have had them by then. So I let you be. But--” he pauses. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says automatically.

“Not your fault,” Enjolras says. “I’m just glad you’re up and walking and talking. Not in a hospital somewhere.”

“You came for sex the very next night,” Grantaire points out, suddenly a little annoyed.

“No, I didn’t really – I just wanted you off the streets. You didn’t need to be out there in the cold. And I knew the only way I could get you back here was if you felt like you were doing your job,” Enjolras says.  
Grantaire wants to argue, except he knows Enjolras is right.

“And hey, somewhat underrated fact,” Enjolras adds, a small grin on his face. “Orgasms are good for you. Your body releases endorphins when you get off – eases pain and puts you to sleep. So it wasn’t like the whole thing was pointless.”

“God, you are so a nurse,” Grantaire says after a moment, laughing. “Knowing all the physical shit about it. Endorphins and all that…”

Enjolras laughs along with him. “Hey, hazard of the trade,” he says, shrugging. Then, “Let me change. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Grantaire replies, and watches as Enjolras turns and heads for the bedroom. Enjolras pulls his shirt off before he disappears into the bedroom, and Grantaire wonders for the millionth time what he did to deserve this.

Enjolras reappears after a few minutes in a loose t-shirt and a pair of baggy workout shorts, and he stops in the living room to look down at Grantaire. “You don’t look like you feel very good,” he says, frowning. Grantaire’s first reaction is to tell him to ‘fuck off’, but he keeps his mouth shut. “If you need some Advil or something, it’s in the bathroom…”

“It’s not – I’m fine,” Grantaire says. Enjolras watches him for a moment, obviously seeing right through him, before nodding and heading for the kitchen.

“We’ve got that leftover Chinese from yesterday still in here,” Enjolras calls. Grantaire can hear the hum of the refrigerator. “You want some?”

“You were asking me about my parents yesterday,” Grantaire says, ignoring Enjolras’s question, because somehow Enjolras just needs to know. Or maybe Grantaire just needs to tell him. To just tell someone.

“Yeah?” Enjolras says, voice a little tentative. The fridge door shuts, and Grantaire can hear his padding footfalls. Grantaire spits out the words before Enjolras can get close. He doesn’t want Enjolras to see his face, and moreover, he doesn’t want to see the look on Enjolras’s face.

“My parents are dead.”

Enjolras steps in front of him, looking down at him. His face is blank, as though he hasn’t quite processed this.

“They were in a car crash when I was seventeen,” he says. “Just a month before I turned eighteen.”

“Grantaire…” Enjolras says. His expression suddenly turns heartbroken, as though he’d just heard that his own parents were dead. Grantaire wants to reach up and slap him across the face, just because the guy cares too much about everything.

“If I’d been eighteen, I would have gotten the inheritance,” he says. “The house, the money, the whole deal. But I wasn’t, and it all went to my step-mom. My real parents were still very close – they’d been across town looking at something for my dad, then got hit on the way home. My step-mom was always pissed about that – that my parents were still friends – and she never was really fond of me. I guess because I wasn’t her own…

“But yeah, she got everything, and she did take care of me until I got out of school. But then, she was just sort of gone. She gave me a handful of money and shut the door behind me. I took out a student loan and then sort of went AWOL, I guess. Started smoking weed a lot, did some harder shit occasionally. Never showed up to class, never studied, was too busy being a raving son of a bitch. I dropped out after first year – I was mostly failing everything anyway – but I couldn’t afford to keep going to school and pay rent and buy food and all of that…

“I tried to get in touch with my step-mom a few times toward the end there, once I looked at everything and realized how much I owed with the student loan and all. She never answered my calls, and never called back. So I moved out here, out in downtown, and got a job at a deli. The place went out of business about a year after, and I was already struggling from week to week anyway. I tried to get another job, but the area was just getting slummier and slummier – well, you’ve been around, you know how it’s been down there. No one was hiring, so I ended up selling most of my things. Still didn’t have enough money to get out of town. Still hadn’t completely paid off the student loan…

“Then, I was walking down the street one night, just to go down and get some food. Stopped at a crosswalk, and this guy came by and offered me fifty for a blowjob. And the rest, I think you can figure out yourself.”  
Enjolras just stares. Grantaire’s chest feels tight, and there’s a lump in his throat. His eyes are watering, so he tilts his head back against the couch so the tears won’t spill over.

Enjolras just stares, and stares.

“So it’s my fault,” Grantaire finishes. “If I’d just gotten my shit together, I wouldn’t be here. But I just kept digging this hole, and it’s my fault. And then, I shouldn’t have taken that fifty euros, but it was just such an easy way out. But – but I did, and that’s why I’m here.”

“It’s not your fault,” Enjolras says quietly.

“How do you figure that?” Grantaire asks sardonically. He swallows back that lump in his throat.

“You’d – you’d just lost your parents,” Enjolras answers. He sounds devastated. “And you didn’t have anyone there for you. I mean, who would be able to deal with that on their own? Especially when you’re getting out of the house and going to university and all that. Leaving the house and going away is scary enough as it is…”

Grantaire’s vaguely aware that he is about to cry. He keeps his head tilted back, swallows again, and blinks his eyes a few times to make the tears go away. One slides down his cheek anyway.

“God, Grantaire,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire suddenly has hands on his shoulders and thighs against his own. Enjolras crawls over him, straddling his legs, and wraps his arms around Grantaire’s neck. He presses his face against Grantaire’s cheek. “You’re alright,” Enjolras mumbles.

“I know!” Grantaire snaps. It more comes out as a sob. “I know I’m fucking alright!”

“Shh…” Enjolras says. He doesn’t move, doesn’t pull back, just stays where he is. Grantaire clings back just as tightly. “It’s alright, babe,” Enjolras murmurs.

It’s the ‘babe’ that does Grantaire in. He just sinks, collapses, and lets himself go. Lets himself cry. Lets himself cry for all of those other times that he hadn’t cried before.

He hadn’t cried at his parents’ funeral. He hadn’t cried when his step-mother left him to fend for himself. He hadn’t cried when he’d had to sell his car and all of his valuables. He hadn’t cried after that first blowjob. He hadn’t cried after the first time he’d let someone actually fuck him for money. He hadn’t cried when he’d realized what it was like to be treated like a whore, when he’d realized what it was like to be homeless, cold, and hungry.

Suddenly, though, he can’t stop the tears from coming.

He hates Enjolras for doing this to him, for sending him to this place of emotion that he doesn’t want, but at the same time loves him for caring enough to push him there and then pull him through on the other side.  
Enjolras can make him glow inside one moment, and then drive him absolutely batshit insane the next.

He’s not sure what this means, but he knows that it’s been a long, long time since someone has cared about him as much as Enjolras obviously does.

And like most things that Enjolras does, Grantaire both hates him and loves him for it.  
~*~  
Grantaire calms down eventually, at which point Enjolras decides they need to go get something to eat.

“I thought you said we had leftover Chinese,” Grantaire complains. He still feels stuffy from his sobfest. He’s also horrifically embarrassed.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says. “Let’s just get out of the apartment for a while, though. Go somewhere else.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says. He doesn’t understand nor necessarily agree, but he’s not in the mood to argue.

Grantaire stuffs his feet into the pair of flip-flops Enjolras had bought for him, and follows Enjolras out the door and to his hybrid.

They drive a mile or so down the road to the McDonalds there. They order at the drive-thru and then park off to the side to eat. Enjolras surprisingly pops Metallica into the CD player, and Grantaire rests his feet up on the dash.

Grantaire learns that greasy hamburgers and good music make everything better.

“I hope you’re off tomorrow,” Grantaire says eventually, looking at the clock on the dash. It’s nearing eleven.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says with a soft smile. “Yeah, I am.”

Grantaire nods and looks out the window. It’s a quiet night – not a lot of people on the road.

“You feel better,” Enjolras says, a statement rather than a question. Grantaire looks over. “Or, at least you will feel better,” Enjolras amends.

“No, I do feel better,” Grantaire says. “I just – I’m so fucking sorry that I…”

“Don’t,” Enjolras says, interrupting him. “Don’t be sorry. Sometimes you just have to, you know, unload. It’s human.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says, and lets it go. He goes back to looking out the window and still feels like an over-reacting bastard.

“Hey,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire looks back over to find him climbing over the console with a supreme lack of coordination. Grantaire reaches out to help him, and Enjolras half-sits, half-falls onto Grantaire’s lap. They both laugh, and Grantaire ends up smiling for the first time all night. “There’s a smile,” Enjolras says, like Grantaire’s some sort of child or something.

Grantaire reaches up and runs a thumb over Enjolras’s bottom lip. 

“You know,” Enjolras says, pulling Grantaire hand away from his mouth and entwining their fingers together. Grantaire watches this, because – well fuck, he’s holding hands with the guy. He’s not sure why this feels more intimate than anything else they’ve done, all things considered. “You know,” Enjolras says, “you’ve said several times that you think I don’t care about you. And I hope that’s just your complex talking, because you have to know that I do…”

Grantaire doesn’t answer, at least not verbally. He squeezes Enjolras’ hand gently. Enjolras smiles, and closes the distance to kiss.

They make out for a long, long while right there in the McDonalds car park, but once things start to get too hot and heavy, Enjolras takes them back to the apartment.

“We could have fucked there,” Grantaire points out tiredly as Enjolras pulls out into traffic. “It was private enough.”

“Rather be home,” Enjolras says simply, then glances over. “And I didn’t know that sex was on your agenda for the night.”

Grantaire’s not sure what to say about this.

“I mean, if you want to, that’s fine. Totally fine,” Enjolras says. “You look like you’re sort of spaced out right now, though. So if you just want to go home and crash, that’s fine too.”

Grantaire’s first thought is, but this is my job. But then he stops, thinks about what Enjolras has just said, thinks about what he’s just done for him. Maybe he’ll understand. “If we could just wait until the morning…” he says, trailing off.

“Of course,” Enjolras says. “And if you don’t feel like it then either, then that’s perfectly okay too.”

Grantaire wonders when exactly Enjolras has stopped treating him like a whore. Then, he realizes that Enjolras never really has.  
~*~  
They don’t fuck that night, but then Grantaire wakes up the next morning with a raging hard-on.

He’s not really sure why – he can’t remember dreaming, and he hasn’t just randomly woken up like this since he was in his teens. However, Enjolras’s ass is pressed up tight against his groin, and he thinks this might be a significant part of the whole thing.

Enjolras’s still asleep, so Grantaire pulls away, figuring he’ll go ahead and get in the shower and take care of things there. Except before he can get anywhere, Enjolras throws a hand out behind him and grabs Grantaire’s forearm. Grantaire just about flies up out of the bed in shock.

“I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up,” Enjolras says, breathless laughter in his throat.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Grantaire says as Enjolras turns over to meet his gaze. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Pfft,” Enjolras says. “You’re back there rubbing that thing against my ass. Woke me up pretty quick.”

“You should have just woken me up,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras doesn’t answer. He’s too busy pulling the covers down, settling between Grantaire’s legs, and pulling Grantaire’s cock out of his boxers. He settles down leaning against Grantaire’s thigh, and wraps a hand around the base of his dick before taking the head into his mouth. Grantaire groans and lets his eyes slip shut.

“Holy hell, you can suck like a fucking Hoover,” Grantaire says, moving a hand down to settle at the junction of his thigh and groin. Enjolras laughs around his cock, the vibrations going right up Grantaire’s spine, and sets his free hand on top of Grantaire’s.

He pulls off after a moment, though, and says, “Open your eyes? Please?”

Grantaire props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Enjolras. Enjolras looks back, brown eyes full of sex and affection all at the same time, and Grantaire moves his hand to run his fingers through Enjolras’ hair like Enjolras always does with him. Enjolras smiles, then ducks his head to lick the precome from that slit, and fuck, Grantaire likes that. He likes it a whole lot.

Enjolras already knows this, though, and keeps flicking his tongue against it. Grantaire groans again, and rubs his thumb against Enjolras’s temple.

Enjolras goes back to sucking for a few, then pulls off to say, “You’ve got a nice cock.”

Grantaire can’t help but smile and chuckle a little. “Well, thanks,” he says, and Enjolras grins back at him as he runs his hand from base to head, then back down.

“You do,” Enjolras says. “All hot and thick and smooth…”

Grantaire groans in reply.

“I bet you could fuck my brains out with it…”

Grantaire reaches down to pull at his balls. If he doesn’t, he’s going to come right then and there. Enjolras laughs.

“You about to come?” Enjolras asks. “Come on, come for me.”

Enjolras slides his lips back down around Grantaire’s cock, and Grantaire does as he’s told.

Later, once Grantaire has reciprocated and they’d given each other round two handjobs in the shower, Enjolras says, “I’m glad I know.”

Grantaire glances over from the couch where he’s eating Cheerios out of the box. Enjolras is sitting in the armchair, legs folded up underneath him, his laptop across his knees. “About what?” Grantaire asks, even though he already knows.

“About--” Enjolras says, obviously trying to pick out the right words. “About why you’re here.”

Enjolras doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He half looks at the computer, half keeps his attention on Grantaire, but Grantaire understands anyway. He’s suddenly not even uncomfortable about it.

“I’m glad you know, too,” Grantaire says quietly. Enjolras fully looks up with that, and Grantaire can’t help but smile. “Pretty eyes,” he says.

Enjolras looks back to the computer, a small blush creeping across his cheeks, and smiles this smile that makes Grantaire’s heart jump a little. He wishes he’d met Enjolras in any other way, a normal way.

Friends, Grantaire thinks.

Then, okay, maybe more than just friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the feedback on the last chapter, it really means a lot! 
> 
> As always, feedback is welcome :)


	8. you who suffer because you love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I said--” He has the tone of a man about to take a step off of the edge of a cliff. “If I said I could fall in love with you, would that be okay?”
> 
> Grantaire’s quiet at first, then says, “I don’t know.”
> 
> Enjolras sighs.

Somehow, it goes from New Year’s to the middle of February, and Grantaire’s left lying next to Enjolras in bed pondering upon this new development.

It’s been over three months since Grantaire first met Enjolras. It seems like forever ago, yet at the same time, it seems like yesterday. Grantaire hasn’t left Enjolras again since Christmas. It feels okay. It feels better than okay. He stays busy during the day. He takes care of Enjolras’ apartment, plays around with his computer and the playstation Enjolras never touches, and then gets to go to bed with Enjolras every night. It’s a pretty damn good set-up, even if on some level he still feels like he’s wasting away. Grantaire turns 23, but doesn’t mention anything.

“You’ve changed,” Enjolras says that night. Grantaire’s not sure what the occasion is. Maybe because he somehow knows Grantaire’s been thinking about it.

“Really, now?” Grantaire says. He has a leg bent and pressed between Enjolras’, and Enjolras’ thigh is draped over his own, his knee hooked behind Grantaire’s. He can feel Enjolras’ genitals pressed up against his thigh, and he really wants a round two. Really wants one. Except he knows that Enjolras’ exhausted, and so he’s not going to ask.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says. He reaches a hand out to cup the side of Grantaire’s neck, and his thumb grazes his jaw. “You’re just more comfortable, you seem like,” Enjolras says. “You don’t always have one foot headed for the door.”

“I’m not going to leave,” Grantaire says. And he means it. He fucking means it.

“I know. And I’m glad,” Enjolras says. Then, after a few moments, “And you just seem… You’re just more comfortable. I don’t know. Maybe I read too much into things – but I want you happy.”

“I am happy,” Grantaire tells him honestly. He hasn’t been this happy in a long time. He slides a hand across Enjolras’s hip and down his thigh.

“Good,” Enjolras says. Then, a little humorously, “You’re also very turned on.”

“What?” Grantaire says. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Enjolras says, laughter in his voice. “You’re jabbing my belly.”

Grantaire coughs to cover up the fact that he’s giggling. “Shut up. You’re not supposed to talk about that,” he says, moving to pull away. “I can’t help it.”

Enjolras rolls with him as Grantaire moves, and Grantaire meets those pretty green eyes. Enjolras looks pleased. “I’m glad you can’t help it,” Enjolras says, dipping his head breathe against Grantaire’s temple. “You always said you enjoyed it, and you always seemed like you did. And it was nice. But now suddenly? Recently? You get turned on at the drop of a hat.”

Grantaire hasn’t realized this, hasn’t noticed any sort of change. “I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, then feels sort of stupid for saying that. It’s probably not the right answer. Enjolras laughs.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he says, and takes a moment to mouth at Grantaire cheek as he rolls him all the way over. He settles down behind Grantaire, spooning against him, and slides a hand around his side and down. “It’s great,” he continues. “You’ve started asking me. Telling me you want to have sex, asking me to fuck you, and then you’re hard before I can even get a hand on you.”

To emphasize those last words, Enjolras gives his cock one, good, teasing squeeze before pulling back to spit in his hand. “You don’t have to do this,” Grantaire says as Enjolras wraps slick fingers back around his cock. “I know you’re tired…”

“Now I was just saying how nice you were being,” Enjolras says, voice faux-disappointed. Then, “Just let me rub you off.”

“You don’t have to ‘reward’ me,” Grantaire says, but Enjolras’s already got all of his buttons programmed, and Grantaire’s far too used to Enjolras’s body for his own good. Grantaire’s absently moving with Enjolras’s hand before he even realizes it.

“I know,” Enjolras says. Then, “I have tomorrow off, anyway. I can catch up sleep.”

“True enough,” Grantaire finally relents. He lets his eyes slip shut and relaxes into Enjolras’s body. Enjolras chuckles and kisses the back of his neck.

“I love--” Enjolras says, and everything in Grantaire’s being comes to a screeching, balls-breaking stand still. His eyes fly open, his muscles go tight, and he’s honestly surprised that he doesn’t lose his hard-on. But then Enjolras finishes after that rather distinctive pause, “God, I love the way you feel.”

Grantaire’s life slowly spins back into focus. The handjob continues, he has a passable orgasm, and he goes to sleep.

It’s something he remembers, though. Enjolras doesn’t love him, and if he’d been about to say it, then he’s out of his mind. But Grantaire doesn’t want to hurt him, and he’s pretty damn sure that the guy had felt his reaction to those two first words.

He wonders if Enjolras had been about to go down that dreaded three letter word path, and then diverted when he’d felt Grantaire panic.

He wonders about a lot of things.

He doesn’t want to hurt Enjolras.  
~*~  
The next morning, though, Enjolras is as amazing as ever.

They fuck when they wake up, and then Grantaire gets up to shower while Enjolras goes back to sleep.

The morning routine in running smoothly – meaning Grantaire is sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal – when the doorbell rings. Grantaire frowns in the direction of the door while setting his bowl on the coffee table and moving over to the door. Grantaire looks at the door, looks at the bedroom, then looks back at the door.

Enjolras doesn’t yell back any helpful information about expecting company or some such.

But then Grantaire remembers Enjolras mentioning something about ordering some new scrubs online the other day, so it’s probably just a package. He mentally shrugs his shoulders, and opens the door.

There’s no box.

There’s no one there at all.

Grantaire looks around, steps out onto the sidewalk and looks down the row toward the apartments on either side of Enjolras’, before shrugging his shoulders and stepping back inside. 

“Is someone there?” Enjolras calls. He still sounds half-asleep.

“No,” Grantaire calls back. “False alarm.”

“What?” Enjolras calls back. Grantaire rolls his eyes.

“No one was there!” Grantaire repeats himself, at which point Enjolras sticks a bed-ruffled head around the side of the doorframe. He’s obviously still naked and trying to hide himself from view for the most part, which is ridiculous on so many levels that Grantaire can’t even name them all.

“No one?” Enjolras asks, mouth turning into a worried frown. Grantaire’s not sure what’s wrong about this. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “I looked.” Then, after an awkward pause, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m going to take a shower,” he says after too long a pause.

And the doorbell incident is dropped as such.  
~*~  
Grantaire gets the flu from hell two weeks later.

Enjolras stays healthy. Grantaire hates him and loves him for it.

“You can’t just stay home,” Grantaire tell Enjolras, then hacks and snots in a rather disgusting manner. Enjolras’s unfazed by this, but then again, he deals with the sick for a living. Grantaire thinks it should be different when it’s the person you’re sleeping with, though… Apparently not.

“I can play hooky from the clinic,” Enjolras says. He’s watching the television from the armchair while Grantaire’s curled up on the couch under a mound of blankets. “And it’s not even really playing hooky,” Enjolras adds, “I mean, I’m not sick. But you are.”

Grantaire’s not sure that this counts, but whatever. He grabs another Kleenex, blows his nose, and adds another dirty tissue to the ever increasing pile on the floor. 

“I’m going to stay home tomorrow,” Enjolras decides officially, patting the arms of his chair. “I mean, I know you don’t need me, need me. But it’d just be easier if I were here.”

“Whatever,” Grantaire says, rolling his eyes as though he thinks Enjolras is ridiculous, though in actuality, he thinks it’ll be nice to have Enjolras around tomorrow.  
~*~  
He’s not sure when he fell asleep on the couch, but he wakes up to a one-sided phone conversation.

“Yeah. Mmm-hmm. Just the little things, you know?”

He’s not sure where Enjolras is. Maybe the kitchen? He sighs, and just lets his eyes drift shut again.

“I know he’s like that, Courf. You can’t let him get to you. You know he loves you…”

“What…?!”

Grantaire opens his eyes at the tone there.

“He told you that?”

A very, very long silence. So long that Grantaire thinks the conversation may be over.

“The truth? You want the truth?” Another long pause. “The truth is yes. He came off of the streets. Yes, he used to prostitute. But no, he is not a bad person. And he hasn’t used me or mistreated me or done any of that. Do you really think I’d go down that road again?”

Grantaire can’t help but raise his eyebrows at that.

“Bahorel’s just – Bahorel’s just overprotective.”

Grantaire closes his eyes, and sighs. Fucking Bahorel.

“Courfeyrac! I am not discussing my sex life with you!”

“Yes, of course we use protection.”

“And besides just, having someone here. I feel safer with him here.”

And Grantaire can’t take it anymore, all this talking about him…

He pushes himself up from the couch, wrapping one of the blankets around him, and toddles toward the kitchen. He finds Enjolras sitting on one of the kitchen counters, legs dangling off the side, and he looks up to meets Grantaire’s eyes with a deer-in-headlights expression when he sees Grantaire coming.

But then his eyes soften, and he reaches a hand out in a ‘come here’ sort of gesture, and Grantaire’s not really sure why he’s not mad about Enjolras talking about him. Maybe because Grantaire’s a part of Enjolras’ life, and Enjolras is allowed to talk to his friends about his life? It all makes sense in a strange way.

He closes the distance and laces his fingers with Enjolras’, listens as Enjolras says, “Yeah, I do too. He’s really good for me.” While he says it into the telephone, Grantaire’s aware that Enjolras’s telling Grantaire this as well.  
Enjolras threads his fingers in and out of Grantaire’s, then brings his hand up to his mouth to kiss. Grantaire can’t help but pull away at that. “Eww, don’t kiss my boogery hands,” he says. “You’ll get sick too.”

Enjolras just laughs, then says into the phone, “Yes, that was him…”

It’s quiet for a while – Coufeyrac must be talking – and Enjolras massages his hand slowly, softly. Then suddenly, Enjolras hands the phone to Grantaire and says, “Here. He wants to talk to you.”

Grantaire balks, and his insides twist up in nervousness. He takes the phone, giving Enjolras a panicked look, and finally mutters a quiet ‘hello’ into the phone. It comes out like a croaking frog, but his throat is sore and dry, and he can’t help it.

“Oh, Enjolras is right,” Courfeyrac says. “You don’t sound good at all.”

“Oh, I’m doing okay,” he says. And he is. He’s sleeping, staying hydrated, staying medicated. Doing what Enjolras tells him to.

“Well, you’ve got Enjolras there. He’ll get you better,” he says kindly, and then gets right down to it. “I just want you to know that I personally haven’t seen Enjolras this happy – as happy as he’s been these past few months – in quite a while. Which was why when Bahorel told me – I’m assuming you heard what Enjolras said…”

“Yes,” Grantaire says.

“Right,” he says. “Which was why, when he told me that, it didn’t make any sense. But if you’re good to him, and you make him happy, then I’m happy for the both of you. But God help me, the minute you put him in a bad place…”

“I know,” Grantaire says. “I know. And I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to do that to him.”

Enjolras is watching him quietly as if he knows the conversation they’re having. Grantaire tries not to stare back at him.

“Then I’m happy for you both. For you, too. I’m glad you’ve found him,” Courfeyrac says. “A lot of people don’t find a second chance like this.”

And maybe it’s hearing him say it aloud that makes him realise it, that he really has found his second chance. And that maybe, because he makes Enjolras happy, he just might deserve it.

“I know,” he says. He looks over to Enjolras at that. “I’m lucky. Blessed. Whatever you want to call it. Just - it was a one in a million thing to have found him, I think.”

Enjolras smiles and blushes, and Grantaire can actually hear Courfeyrac smile on the other end of the line.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Courfeyrac says. “It definitely says something about you.”

Grantaire’s not sure what, but from the way Enjolras’s looking at him, it must be a good thing.

“Well,” Courfeyrac says, “I should let you go. I’ve suppose I’ve harassed you enough, and I know you’re sick. You should go lie down.”

“I’ve been lying down all day,” Grantaire complains, even though he really feels like lying down some more. Enjolras chuckles, probably because he knows all of this.

“Well, lie down anyway,” Courfeyrac tells him in a very ‘Enjolras-like’ tone that has Grantaire smirking. “Tell Enjolras goodnight for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, Grantaire.”

“Goodnight.”  
~*~  
He asks Enjolras the next day, because after all, curiosity killed the cat.

“What happened before?” he asks him, then has to cough for a good minute and a half.

“Drink,” Enjolras tells him in response. “You haven’t drank enough water this morning.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, but grabs his water up from the coffee table and downs the rest of the glass. Enjolras watches approvingly. Once he’s through, he repeats, “What happened before?”

“When?” Enjolras asks.

“You told Courfeyrac you wouldn’t…” he trails off, trying to figure out how to word it. He can tell Enjolras already knows, though, and so he waits. Enjolras doesn’t offer anyway information willingly, and so Grantaire is forced to plow on, “Were you in a relationship before this? That went bad?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says simply.

Used and mistreated. Grantaire can remember the words clearly. “What happened?” he asks.

Enjolras just looks at him blankly. While Grantaire would never admit it, he feels a little hurt.

“I told you,” Grantaire says quietly. “I told you about me…”

Enjolras visibly collapses, then looks the other way. “I met him when I was young, still in university,” he explains. “Fell quick, fell hard. Didn’t really understand relationships and what it was all supposed to be. I was too young. I didn’t have enough experience. I was stupid.”

Grantaire’s quiet. He’s pretty sure this isn’t the end of the story.

“The guy was really controlling. I was in school to go for my M.D., but then we were talking about moving in together once we got out of university, and he didn’t want to wait for me to get out of med school before I could get a stable job. So I switched to nursing, and did the nurse practitioner route. And I should have realized then – when he was telling me what I was going to do with the rest of my life – that the guy was a nutcase, but it all made sense at that time. I don’t know… I was never the type to let anyone tell me what to do, I didn't even realise how manipulative he was, he was good at getting in my head.

“And then, once we moved in together, it only got worse. It was the typical shit you see on Dateline and stuff. I was told what I could wear, and what I could eat, and where I could go, and when I could work, and who I could see and blah blah… I didn't even act like myself anymore, I just shut down after a while.”

“Fuck,” Grantaire says.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says. He still doesn’t meet Grantaire’s eyes. “My friends all told me I needed to get out of there, but I didn’t realise anything was wrong until he beat the crap out of me one night. I told him I didn’t want to have sex, and that wasn’t an acceptable option for him, I guess…” He laughs, as though it’s funny. Grantaire supposes it’s a laugh or cry sort of deal.

“I went to Bahorel’s that night after he fell asleep,” Enjolras says. “And now I’ve got a restraining order against him. And end of story.”

“And that’s it?” Grantaire asks. “You haven’t seen him since?”

“Oh, he comes by every once and a while,” Enjolras says. “Usually rings the doorbell during the day and leaves, then comes back at night to whine and cry, because he’s a bastard…”

Grantaire blinks. “That was him the other day?”

“Probably,” Enjolras says.

“He didn’t come back,” Grantaire says.

“Probably because you opened the door,” Enjolras says. “And he wasn’t quite sure what to do with an unfamiliar man wandering out and looking around.”

It’s quiet for a moment, but then Grantaire asks, “How long had it been when you found me? How long had it been since him?”

“A little over two years,” Enjolras says without pause, as though he’d known this from point one. “I lived with Courfeyrac and Combeferre for about six months, then moved in here. Was lonely within weeks. I haven’t lived by myself ever. Grew up in the house with my parents, moved into the dorms in university, moved in with him after university, then Courf and Ferre, and then here. But I wanted someone here. It’s pathetic, I know. I’m 27 and couldn’t stand living by myself.

“I was shy about putting an ad out for a roommate, though, after everything that had happened. And no one I knew needed a place to stay. And I tried the bars and the clubs and the dating services, and I met nice enough people, but once again got shy after a month or so. And then they’d start calling and calling, and then I’d start panicking…”

“And finally I just – I saw you there every night when I was walking to my car after work – and I thought, why not? It’s no strings attached, and it’s someone to be with at night, and you’re gorgeous. And if I get uncomfortable, I can leave, no questions asked. No calls, no hurt feelings.

“But then,” he smiles, soft and pure. “It didn’t quite work out that way I guess. Never quite got uncomfortable.”

Grantaire watches him, watches those eyes. “You’re eyes are something else,” he says eventually.

Enjolras blushes, then eventually gets up from the chair to sidle up next to Grantaire on the couch. He tucks him a little tighter into the blanket, then pulls him closer to his body. Grantaire lays his head on his shoulder while at the same time protesting, “Don’t get too close. You’ll get sick.”

“You do realize I probably brought this home from the clinic,” Enjolras tells him.

“Damn you,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras laughs, and brings a hand around to rub gently at his back.

It’s silent for quite a while, the voices on the television and Grantaire’s snuffling the only sounds in the room, but then Enjolras speaks up, “If I said--” He has the tone of a man about to take a step off of the edge of a cliff. “If I said I could fall in love with you, would that be okay?”

Grantaire’s quiet at first, then says, “I don’t know.”

Enjolras sighs, then says, “Could you fall in love with me?”

“I think,” Grantaire says, suddenly scared out of his mind. He tells Enjolras a secret that he doesn’t even want himself to know. “I think I might have already fallen in love with you.”

“I love you, too,” Enjolras says quietly, breathlessly.

“I’ll never hurt you,” Grantaire tells him. “I’ll never – I’ll never do those things to you.”

“I know,” Enjolras says. “I know.” Then, again, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Grantaire says.

And he’s not sure he’s ever meant anything more in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there was no chapter yesterday, my boyfriend was ill so I was busy looking after him and didn't want to post this from my phone. I'm also sad that there isn't a massive amount of this left so I wasn't against dragging it out a little. 
> 
> People have been wondering what's gone on with Grantaire and Enjolras in the past, I hope it's all clear now and that it doesn't completely disappoint! 
> 
> I'd love feedback if you have time!


	9. take shelter from the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.
> 
> “You’re still sympathetic toward him?” he says. “After everything?”

Of course, something was bound to happen. Grantaire should have realized this from the beginning, he thinks. It’d been too easy to lull himself into a false sense of security, too easy to convince himself that this was ‘meant to be’. That this was how it would be forever and ever, Amen.

The doorbell starts ringing every damn day.

By the next week, the doorbell is ringing multiple times every damn day.

By the next week, Enjolras is crawling out of his skin.

And finally…

“ENJOLRAAAAS!!!”

It’s just past two o’clock in the morning when they both wake up to it. It sounds like a cat is howling outside the window. Except the cat is howling Enjolras’ name. 

“Oh my God,” Enjolras groans, crawling up out of bed and fishing a pair of boxers out of the drawer. Grantaire does the same, frowning at the ungodly noises, and then follows Enjolras out into the living area. They both peer through the blinds and out the window.

“Is that him?” Grantaire asks, peering at the shadow silhouetted outside the door by the lamp posts. He supposes this is a stupid question, all things considered, but still…

“Yup,” Enjolras says flatly. “Cool guy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “Real catch.”

“WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?!?!”

“WHY, ENJOLRAS?!?!?!”

Grantaire snorts. “What do we do now?” he finally asks.

“Wait until he leaves,” Enjolras says, shrugging.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, shaking his head. “Call the police. Have him hauled off. You don’t have to put up with this for the next – what? – How long’s he going to do this for?”

“YOU LITTLE WHORE!! YOU SAID I’D BE YOU’RE ONLY!!”

They’re both quiet for a moment after that.

“I usually just leave him,” Enjolras says. “I mean, he’s obviously drunk. Or on something, more likely. He probably won’t even remember this tomorrow. If he wakes one of the neighbours up, then they call, but other than that…”

Grantaire can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

“You’re still sympathetic toward him?” he says. “After everything?”

“No,” Enjolras says, a little too defensive to really be sincere. “I just don’t want to deal with him.”

“Well, then I’ll call the cops,” Grantaire says, “and you won’t have to deal with it.”

“No, don’t,” Enjolras says. “Just don’t worry about it. Don’t bother.”

“IS HE BETTER THAN ME?!?! I’VE SEEN HIM!!”

“Ah,” Grantaire says. “He’s seen me.”

“Apparently,” Enjolras says.

“DOES HE MAKE YOU HAPPY?!?!”

“DOES HE MAKE YOU HAPPY, YOU LITTLE WHORE?!?!?!”

“That’s it,” Grantaire finally spits. “I’m going out there to kick his ass.” And he promptly heads for the door.

“No, no, no, don’t,” Enjolras starts, panicking. Grantaire ignores him. “If you open the door--” Grantaire wrenches the door open “--he'll force his way in here…”

True to word, the big blonde forces his way through the door and right into Grantaire, effectively bowling him over. While Grantaire can’t help but go down, he at least takes the asshole down with him, grabbing an arm and a fistful of shirt as he falls. He hits the ground hard, and the asshole falls onto him even harder.

He can hear Enjolras yelling. Grantaire grabs the guy and rolls them both over so he’s on top, but then ends up with limbs flailing everywhere underneath him. The guy has that uncoordinated, staggering strength of the highly intoxicated going for him, and he throws Grantaire off of him in one ridiculously wild motion.

Grantaire suddenly realizes that it will do no one any good if he ends up getting knocked unconscious, so he heads into the kitchen for the phone.

And while he’s there, he grabs a kitchen knife for good measure.

He dials 999 as he rushes back out into the living area, and he finds Enjolras scrambling over the back of the couch trying to get away of the son of a bitch. The couch tips, and while Enjolras manages to ungracefully fall with it and stumble up to his feet, the other guy is too fucked up to manage it. He ends up faceplanting into the floor with a crash.

“999. What’s your emergency?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, watching as the ex climbs unsteadily to his knees, then his feet, and looks up at them. Grantaire thinks he might actually see steam coming out of the guy’s ears, just like in the cartoons. Enjolras clings to Grantaire’s arm in utter fear, and Grantaire waves the kitchen knife around in front of him like he actually knows how to do something with it. “Yeah,” he repeats into the phone. “We’ve got this man in our apartment…”

“Do you know him?”

“Yeah. Well, no. One of us has a restraining order against him – woah, there…” Enjolras twists away as the ex stumbles up and lunges across the kitchen. Grantaire brandishes the knife at the son of a bitch again, but it doesn’t seem to faze him.

In fact, Grantaire just gets punched in the face as the ex slams into him.

“Are you sti--” The phone and knife are thrown out of his hands and to the floor, and then Grantaire’s bodily picked up and shoved against the sink, face to face with the ex. The man inspects him, nose curled in distaste, and Grantaire stares back, trying to look solid as a rock even if his heart is going nine-hundred miles an hour.

He’s not so much scared for himself as he is scared for Enjolras.

Yeah, Enjolras is big. As it turns out, Enjolras’ ex- is a little bigger. Grantaire’s the smallest out of the lot by at least a foot, the scrawniest too, but he’ll fight with everything he has in him to keep the man away from Enjolras. After everything Enjolras has done for him, the least he can do is protect him now.

“Mathieu…” Enjolras says, pleading. “Mathieu, please. Mathieu, please let him go. I’ll be good. I promise.”

And the fact that Enjolras would actually tell someone that he would ‘be good’ in a completely serious, none joking, none flirtatious tone has Grantaire wanting to puke in this guy’s face. 

Mathieu. It’s so normal, unassuming, nonconfrontational. Grantaire was expecting a ‘Gaston’, or a ‘Jafar’, or at least a ‘Captain Hook’.

No. It’s just Mathieu.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says as calmly as possible. He lets his eyes drop slowly down Enjolras’ body, hoping to God that Enjolras won’t jump, won’t startle, won’t make any unnecessary movement. “Down there, by your foot. Look down.”

Enjolras very slowly looks down, almost as if he’s afraid of what he’s going to see. But his phone’s there. Grantaire hopes the call hasn’t been ended. They’ve got a better chance of tracing it if they’ve still got a connection.

Unfortunately, Mathieu has followed Enjolras’s movements as well, and as Enjolras bends over to pick up the phone, he snarls, “Don’t touch that.”

Enjolras stops immediately.

“Enjolras, pick it up,” Grantaire tells him. “999 is on the line. Just tell them we’re still here, and that we still need help…”

Those pretty brown eyes, scared to death, flicker up to meet his gaze, and Grantaire tries to silently tell him that it’s okay. That they’ll make it out of this. That he’s so fucking sorry for getting them into this in the first place.

Enjolras hand wavers a few inches above the phone. He’s never seen Enjolras like this – so unsure and scared. He’s used to the man being so confident in everything he does, it’s like he’s staring at a completely different Enjolras. 

“Don’t touch it,” Mathieu warns.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras reaches down those few inches and picks up the phone.

What happens then happens in the blink of an eye, but to Grantaire, he feels like the world suddenly slows to a turtle’s crawl.

Mathieu lets go of Grantaire to get to Enjolras, causing Enjolras to drop the phone back to the floor in a panic and run sideways into one of the cabinets. A large cooking pot that Grantaire didn’t even know existed – because Enjolras cooks when? – falls from a shelf and hits the floor with much clanging and banging.

The phone is hit by the pot and is cracked with a sickly little crunch.

Grantaire grabs hold of Mathieu before he can get near Enjolras, and Grantaire goes to shove him back into the sink where he’d just had Grantaire pinned some seconds before. Mathieu bows up before Grantaire can get him there, though, and Grantaire has to press his hands against the man’s back to keep from falling. Mathieu leans over to pick something up off of the floor, and once he stands, he promptly spins out of Grantaire’s grip and pulls Grantaire flush against his chest.

And then, Mathieu very carefully takes that kitchen knife he’d just picked up off of the floor and lays it against Grantaire’s jugular.

The air in the room seems to freeze.

“Mathieu…” Enjolras moans.

“Huh?” Mathieu asks. “Something wrong?”

The look on Enjolras’s face… Grantaire’s heart breaks for the other man, and he closes his eyes so he won’t cry.

“Mathieu, please,” Enjolras breathes. “Please, just, let him go. I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mathieu says. “You told me that I’m not your keeper. That I’m too ‘controlling’. That you couldn’t have another person in your life because of what it was like.” He pauses, and Grantaire can feel Mathieu breathing down the back of his neck. “Well, if you can’t have another person in your life, then what is this?”

The knife tightens under Grantaire’s jaw. He lifts his head a bit to ease the pressure. Enjolras makes a panicked noise, and for some reason leans down and picks up the cooking pot. He rattles it nervously around in his hands.

“He’s pretty, I’ll give you that,” Mathieu says, his breath still hot and a little wet against Grantaire’s neck.

It’s a disgusting reminder of what his life used to be like, and he hocks back and spits at Mathieu’s feet before he really thinks about it.

The knife’s jerked up into his neck in response, and he can feel blood begin to run. Fuck, he thinks quite clearly.

Enjolras is crying – Grantaire can hear the little gasping breaths. He watches as Enjolras begins to move, and the man meets Grantaire’s eyes one last time before he drops his gaze to the floor. Grantaire watches as he walks past them both and into the living area.

Fuck, Grantaire thinks again.

He suddenly realizes that that was probably the last time he’d ever see those gorgeous brown eyes ever again.

Screw that 'probably'. Hope never really did exist.

“That it?!” Mathieu squawks, chuckling a little. He smells disgusting, Grantaire thinks. Alcohol and crack, yes, but then stuff that Grantaire can’t even place. And Grantaire’s lived on the streets of slumville.

He suddenly wants to call Enjolras back in there and ask him where the hell he’d found the winner at all those years ago. Clearly, Grantaire needs to find himself a relative to shack up with in hell once he gets there. They’ll have a grand time...

“You just gonna leave lover boy out here to get his throat sliced open all by himself?” Mathieu continues, and Grantaire can’t figure out if he’s enjoying taunting Grantaire more or Enjolras more, really. “Wow, Enjolras. And they all say you’re the--”

He’s cut off midsentence with a resounding, hollow BANG! The sharp pressure against Grantaire’s throat is released, and Mathieu drops to the floor behind him. Grantaire whirls around to see what has happened, wanting desperately to find Enjolras, and slaps a hand over the stinging wound on his neck on impulse.

Enjolras is standing behind him, the cooking pot still held over his head in striking position. Grantaire stares at him for a moment, a little dumbfounded. Enjolras stares back, a little dumbfounded as well. Eventually, Enjolras says, “Don’t touch that place on your neck. It probably needs stitches.”

Grantaire blinks, then pulls his hand away, looking down at blood. He opens his mouth, unsure of what to say, then frowns. Then finally just says, “You hit him over the head with a pot.”

“Yes,” Enjolras confirms, lowering his hands from in the air and looking the cooking pot over. “I hit him over the head with a pot.”

“You hit him over the head with a pot,” Grantaire repeats, then starts cracking up. This is somehow the most hilarious thing in the world. At least, it’s the most hilarious thing in the world at 2:15 AM with a gash in the side of his throat, an unconscious man in the kitchen, and his adrenaline through the roof. Grantaire laughs, and laughs, and laughs. “I didn’t even know you had a pot. Your cooking specialty is like, what, boiled water?”

“Shut up,” Enjolras says, but he’s started laughing hysterically as well.

Actually, Grantaire realises, maybe he’s crying.

No, he’s laughing.

No, crying.

What the--?

“Are you…” Grantaire starts, and then realizes that maybe asking if he’s okay is a bad idea. “Enjolras?” he asks.

“Enjolras?” comes another voice, and they both whirl around in a panic to the front door. Bahorel meets their gazes, and lowers his gun once he’s already given Grantaire a second heart attack.

“I got the call about an intruder,” Bahorel says, moving on into the apartment, frowning. Another man that Grantaire thinks looks vaguely familiar follows him in, already pocketing his gun. “Oh,” Bahorel says once Mathieu’s unconscious form comes into sight. He turns startled eyes around to Enjolras, as though afraid to ask what had happened.

“He hit him over the head with that cooking pot,” Grantaire informs him gleefully. This is still funny, even if Enjolras is upset. Grantaire can’t help it.

“Oh,” Bahorel says again. Bahorel’s partner gets a call on his walkie-talkie, and he wanders away from them to talk. Bahorel ignores him, instead narrows his eyes at Grantaire and asks, “What the hell happened to your neck?”

“Mathieu had a knife to his throat,” Enjolras says, his voice shaking.

Bahorel’s fellow cop goes silent across the room.

“It needs stitches,” Enjolras adds. “I should, you know. Get him to the hospital.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Bahorel growls.

Enjolras stares at him with wide eyes. Grantaire thinks he looks a bit horror stricken.

“Don’t talk to him like that right now,” Grantaire says quietly.

“Don’t,” Enjolras says. “Don’t treat me like…”

“I’m not,” Grantaire starts.

“You can’t drive yourself…” He turns away from Grantaire to address Bahorel instead. “He doesn’t have a license. He can’t get himself to A&E.”

“We’re going to have to get paramedics in to take care of this fucker,” Bahorel says, motioning to Mathieu. “We can get another ambulance.”

“He doesn’t need an ambulance,” Enjolras says. However, what Grantaire hears in his voice is, I don’t want him to leave me right now.

Grantaire thinks Bahorel must hear it too. His face softens dramatically, and he gives a rather put upon sigh. A couple of paramedics file in, but thankfully hone in to the guy on the floor. Grantaire fights the urge to hold onto the side of his neck. “Just promise me something,” Bahorel eventually says. Enjolras watches him warily. “Promise me, Enjolras. Promise me you’ll prosecute this time.”

Grantaire frowns. “What?” he asks.

Enjolras fidgets.

“Enjolras. Promise me,” Bahorel says.

“You’ve never prosecuted?” Grantaire asks. “How the hell do you have a restraining order?”

“It’s a long story,” Enjolras says quietly.

“Enjolras, please,” Bahorel says. And Grantaire’s never seen him like this. Bahorel is Bad Cop. Bahorel is always Bad Cop. Bahorel does not know the word ‘please’. “Enjolras, please. You have to prosecute. Look--” He reaches out to grab Grantaire’s jaw, and he turns Grantaire face until that gash is in Enjolras’s face. “That’s attempted murder,” Bahorel says. “That’s attempted murder that will probably never be able to be proved in court, all things considered. But you know what happened, and fuck, of course Grantaire here knows what happened. And you’ve told me, and I trust you, and so I know what happened. And it’s attempted murder.”

It’s very, very quiet. Bahorel lets go of Grantaire’s face.

“You need to prosecute. This game of cat and mouse needs to end,” Bahorel says.

Enjolras nods eventually, obviously uncomfortable about the entire notion.

Bahorel sighs. “Go, on. Get him to the hospital,” he says. “We’ll talk later. I’ll let you know when Crime Scene wants to talk to you…”

“Okay,” Enjolras says, still so quiet and timid. He glances over at Grantaire. “Here, let me get you a towel for your neck. Then we’ll go…”

It all happens in the span of about fifteen minutes.

To Grantaire, it feels like fifteen hours.  
~*~  
A&E is packed.

“Fuck this,” Enjolras says as soon as they walk in through the automatic doors. “I’ll stitch you up my-fucking-self.”

And so they pile back into his little hybrid and head toward slumville and to the clinic. Grantaire holds the towel close to his neck and tries not to get any blood – fresh or clotted – in Enjolras’s car.

Grantaire doesn’t recognize any of the people in the clinic on night duty – which is probably a good thing, he supposes. They’re both dressed in the shabbiest shit in the apartment, and Grantaire’s fairly sure his hair is sticking up on one side. They’re both gorgeous, for sure.

Enjolras sits him down in the first exam room, and the goes to get equipment and gloves and all that nursey shit he loves so much. Grantaire lets his towel drop to the table beside him, lets his eyes slip shut, finally lets himself relax.

He’s so, so tired.

“Are you okay?”

Grantaire open his eyes, gives Enjolras a tiny little smile as he rolls the sanitized work table up by the bed. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he says. “Just tired.” Then, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, picking up the little pad to sanitize with. He holds Grantaire’s cheek in one, gentle hand and warns, “This is going to sting a little.”

“Okay,” he says, and hides his wince as Enjolras slides the peroxide up into the wound. Enjolras smoothes his thumb down Grantaire’s cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Grantaire asks eventually. “You still seem a little--” he searches for a right word. “A little…”

Enjolras makes a soft breathy noise that he chokes on, then chokes on another one immediately, and when Grantaire turns his head to look over at him, Enjolras drops the bloody peroxide sponge and says, “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to do this…”

“What?” Grantaire says, panicking. “But, we got through it! We…”

“I just, I can’t look at it. My hands are shaking. I keep – I thought he was going to kill you,” he starts, and the tears start rolling as soon as he does. “And after everything. You, I don’t know. You’ve done so much for me, and you’re the one good thing that’s happened for me in so, so long. And he’s taken everything from me. And I thought I was going to watch him take you too. And holy fucking hell, let me find someone else to stitch your neck up…”

“Hey, hey,” Grantaire says, reaching for him, trying to bring him back before he can get away. And this – Grantaire reaching out to Enjolras – he suddenly realizes that this might be a first…

Enjolras trembles, and obviously goes through the few mandatory seconds of internal ‘I’m a man, I can’t cry’ monologue, before he allows Grantaire to pull him back in.

“It’ll be okay,” Grantaire tells him quietly. “It’ll be okay. It is okay. Everyone’s still here. Everyone’s still safe. It’s all okay.”

“I know,” Enjolras says, voice muffled against the skin of Grantaire's neck – the good side of his neck. “It just – everything,” Enjolras rambles.

And Grantaire understands. He doesn’t really feel anything, except confusion at not feeling anything. It doesn’t seem real. It seems like a movie. He’s detached from it all. But regardless, even though he feels nothing at that moment, he can remember a feeling from before…

He can remember looking at Enjolras’s eyes that last time – or what he’d thought was going to be the last time – and the way his whole being and soul had twisted and screamed and collapsed.

“Enjolras?”

The curtain opens, and they both jerk apart to find a very young, very embarrassed nurse glancing in at them. Or rather, staring at the floor after seeing them holding onto each other.

“I’m sorry. I heard you’d come in here after a crime at your apartment, and I just wanted to see if you needed any help,” she says, letting her eyes slide back up sheepishly. “I didn’t realize…” she trails off.

Grantaire’s not sure what she didn’t realize – that Enjolras wasn’t by himself, or that Enjolras was in a relationship with the ‘other person’, or simply that Enjolras was a homosexual. Enjolras doesn’t really seem to care, at least not about that. He immediately goes about rubbing his eyes and pasting on a fake smile, though.

Grantaire watches him, and thinks…

Real love is when you value someone else’s life over your own.

“It’s okay,” Enjolras tells her. “Actually, though. Would you mind stitching this wound up for me? I’ll sign it off on your hours.”

Her face brightens. “Yes, yes. Thank you,” she says, then happens to glance back at Grantaire’s neck. Her face falls promptly. “Oh. Is everything…?”

“I’ll tell you about it,” Enjolras says. “Go on. Wash up and get ready.”

“Of course. Yes, sir,” she says, and promptly turns and leaves. Grantaire has to bite his tongue.

“Yes, sir?” he asks, once he’s fairly sure the girl won’t hear. Enjolras gives him a look.

“She’s just out of school. Don’t give her trouble,” he mutters, settling down very carefully on the exam table next to Grantaire. He wiggles a bit once he’s there, looking down at his ass. “We had one of these collapse once with two people on it,” Enjolras mentions.

“Thanks for sharing,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras smiles at him, even though it’s a bit watery and forced. Grantaire reaches over to take his hand, silent comfort and support.

“My neck hurts,” he says absently.

“I’m sorry. She’ll be back soon,” he says. Then, “That’s a shitty place to have stitches. You’re going to have to be careful how you move your head.”

For some reason, Grantaire finds this funny. Does anyone actually think about how they move their head? He laughs.

Enjolras laughs too. “What? I didn’t make the rules,” he says.

“No, it’s just,” Grantaire says, laughing. “How do you do that?”

This brings Enjolras to an almost hysterical laugh. It’s a beautiful thing to see right then. Grantaire smiles. “What?” Enjolras manages. “Come on, you’re not that desperate to do that.”

Wait… “What?” Grantaire asks, laughing.

“I think you can wait to give a b-j until after you’ve gotten the stitches out,” Enjolras says, still sniggering. “Admit it. Better to receive than give. This is a perfect excuse…”

“I wasn’t even thinking about sex right then,” Grantaire says, laughing even harder now as well. “Holy fucking shit, you are a dirty pig…”

Enjolras’s laugh falters, and Grantaire realizes that he probably shouldn’t have called him that. At least not now. Not then. He plows on as if nothing had happened, because he hadn’t meant anything. He leans sideways, bumping his shoulder against Enjolras’s, and doesn’t rein in his laughter. It seems to remedy the situation.

“You could probably still blow someone with stitches in your neck,” Grantaire muses.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says. “If you want a disgusting scar on your neck for the rest of your life.”

“Hey,” he replies. “Win some. Lose some.”

“I love you,” Enjolras says openly.

The nurse comes back through the door with new stitches.

Grantaire looks at him, look at those eyes that he can see. That he hopes he’ll be able to see for years and years to come.

He squeezes Enjolras’s hand three times in a silent reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of me does regret posting this every day because there's only a couple of chapters left and I'll miss it when it's gone! I started writing this three years ago and kept leaving it so it feels weird that it's nearly done. I've been working on other things though so hopefully something else will be ready soon. 
> 
> Feedback would be so welcome!


	10. as long as you're mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay,” Grantaire says. He opens his mouth to say ‘I love you’, and finds the words harder to say when there’s no fit of emotion to fuel them.

Enjolras’s apartment is roped off with yellow crime scene tape when they pull back up to it at five-thirty in the morning.

Grantaire – complete with fifty-three stitches and an antibacterial dressing – thinks they should have expected this, though where they’re supposed to stay now is a bit of a mystery.

“Maybe,” Enjolras ventures. “Maybe we could stay at Bahorel’s. Since he knows the apartment is out of commission.”

However, before they can even decide to pull out of the complex, Bahorel is moving away from the scene and toward them. He has a duffle bag over one shoulder, and a scowl on his face. “I kept calling your cell to tell you they’d roped the place off,” Bahorel says, already opening the back seat up to throw the bag in. Bahorel continues, “Then they found it crushed on the kitchen floor when they started going through everything.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says.

“Well, Feuilly’s waiting on you guys,” Bahorel says.

“I was going to ask if maybe we could stay there,” Enjolras asks shyly. “Just until…”

“Yeah, for fuck’s sake,” Bahorel says, exasperated. “I thought that was understood.”

“Oh. Okay,” Enjolras says. “Well, thank you.”

Bahorel just shakes his head. “Get over there. Get some sleep. You both look like death warmed over,” he says.

“Gee, thanks,” Grantaire says, but Bahorel’s already backing away from the car. Enjolras throws it in reverse.

“I should be back about seven, eight,” Bahorel says, then shakes his head. “I have to run back by the station. This is turning into the biggest mess. I should have never let you guys leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says.

“Don’t,” Bahorel says, still shaking his head. “I’m glad you weren’t here when the son of a bitch woke up.”

And really, that’s all that needed to be said.

“Go home,” Bahorel says. “Get some sleep.”

Enjolras nods silently, and backs out of the complex.  
~*~  
Feuilly meets them at the front door, and he gives them both long, tight hugs once they’re through the door. 

“I tried to clear out the spare bedroom for you guys,” he says, turning away to lead them down a hall. “It’s still a little cluttered – it became our ‘if there’s no place for it, put it in there’ room. But I put clean sheets on the bed, and there’re towels and soap and everything in the bathroom.”

“You’re amazing,” Enjolras says. 

“Go,” Feuilly says. “Get some sleep.”

Enjolras nods, and wanders into the bedroom with the duffle bag. Feuilly reaches his fingers out to touch the bandage on Grantaire’s neck.

“You’re something else,” he says vaguely. Then, “Where’d you have this done. South Regional?”

“No, the clinic,” Grantaire answers.

“Oh,” Feuilly says. “Enjolras do it?”

“No. He…” Grantaire pauses. “He couldn’t. He had someone else do it.”

Feuilly nods, an understanding look on his face. “Well, I’m sure if he trusted them to stitch you up, they were plenty good,” he says. “You listen to what he tells you, though. Keep it clean so it heals well.”

Grantaire can’t help but chuckle. “You sound like him.”

He smiles softly. “You’re clearly important to him,” he says, “which means you’re important to us, too.”

And he hasn’t had this in so long. Hasn’t felt like he has a group of people who care about him. Or at least is making a group. Making friends. Like he might actually be respected for who he is, not just wanted for what he does. He wants to tell Feuilly this, but it feels too personal. And he’s too tired.

“Well, you need to get some sleep, too,” Feuilly says eventually, pushing him gently toward the bedroom. “Try not to think about it too much. Just rest.”

“I know,” Grantaire says.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Feuilly says, and he peers around the corner of the door as Grantaire enters the room. Enjolras has got the duffle bag open and is pulling a few pairs of clean boxers out, as well as toothpaste and the like. As soon as the door is shut, Grantaire’s going to put it all back in the bag and force the man into the bed. There will be time for teeth-brushing tomorrow. Right now, they all need sleep.

“Goodnight,” Feuilly says quietly, and then shuts the door behind himself.

Grantaire walks up behind Enjolras and hugs him. Enjolras drops what he’s doing and sighs.

“Let’s just go to bed?” Grantaire suggests. “Forget about this. It can wait.”

Enjolras begins putting his things back in the bag, and Grantaire rubs his belly gently. Grantaire’s only slightly surprised when Enjolras’s breath begins hitching again. “You’re okay,” Grantaire mutters, burying his face in the side of Enjolras’s neck.

“No,” Enjolras says. “I’m a blubbering idiot.” Then, “How are you so calm? I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure,” Grantaire says. And he’s moved on from being confused about it to feeling guilty about it. Because surely he should be like Enjolras – traumatized, or at least shaken up. “It just doesn’t seem real,” Grantaire explains. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t,” Enjolras says. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just sorry I’m like this…”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Don’t say that. You know I understand.”

Enjolras leans his head back against Grantaire’s shoulder. “Can we have sex?” he asks timidly, almost as if he’s embarrassed for wanting, for asking.

“I’ll-I’ll try, Enjolras,” he says, trying not to sigh in exhaustion. “I’m really tired. I might not be able to, well, participate much…”

“Then maybe,” Enjolras says. “Maybe tomorrow? When we wake up?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He runs his hands up under Enjolras’s shirt, then pulls it off. “Come on, bed,” he says. “Sleep.”

Enjolras allows Grantaire to let him go and drop the shirt to the ground, and he goes for the bed once Grantaire backs away to undress. Grantaire watches as Enjolras steps out of his jeans, then watches as he pulls the covers back, watches as he slides under the covers. Then suddenly Enjolras is staring at him, eyes a little alarmed. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Why are you just standing there?”

“I--” Grantaire says. You’re gorgeous, he thinks. I never want to take my eyes off of you again, he thinks. I want to ask you if you think this is forever, or if I just have my own reasons to… “I don’t know,” Grantaire says, finally pulling his own side of the covers back to crawl in beside Enjolras. “I take my eyes off of you for one second, and I might get hit with a cooking pot. You never know about these things…”

He gets a smile for that, at least. Grantaire wants to ask Enjolras for a kiss, but thinks that would be too cliché.

So he settles for a ‘hey’. And when Enjolras looks over, he reaches out to pull him over, to ask without words. Enjolras leans over willingly, if a little shakily, and presses a half-opened mouth against Grantaire’s lips, and he just breathes.

Grantaire breathes back, and gently closes his mouth over that thick bottom lip.

“Mmm,” Enjolras murmurs once Grantaire pulls away. Grantaire echoes him, then chuckles a little. “Well let’s – let’s end on a good note.” Enjolras says with a sideways grin. “So – goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Grantaire says, and smiles as he watches Enjolras snuggle down into the sheets. He curls up next to him, throwing an arm out across Enjolras’s middle. Grantaire can tell that he’s already half-way asleep. He wraps that arm a little tighter around him – a silent way of reminding them both that they’re safe here – and lets himself drift off as well.  
~*~  
Grantaire wakes up the next morning to find Enjolras regarding him through one hazy, sleepy eye, the other half of his face still smooshed soundly into the pillow. It makes him smile tiredly, and he stretches a hand out to lay it down on Enjolras’s cheek. He doesn’t bother to stifle his yawn. He wonders what time it is.

“Did you sleep alright?” Enjolras asks, and yawns after Grantaire.

“Yeah,” he says, letting his hand slide down from his cheek to his neck, then over his shoulder. He suddenly wants to touch. Enjolras is there to touch. Grantaire is allowed to touch him all he wants. “You?” he asks.

“Yeah,” he says, rolling his shoulder up into Grantaire hand. Grantaire takes a moment to squeeze the muscle there, work his hand down Enjolras’s bicep, then back up. Enjolras sighs.

Enjolras runs his fingers around the edge of Grantaire’s bandage once Grantaire lets go of his arm, but he doesn’t say anything afterwards. Grantaire figures he must not be going to die anytime soon, so he goes about running his hand down Enjolras’s side and over the curve of his belly, then around that nice round ass and the back of a thigh.

At this point, Enjolras takes his hand away and brings it up to his mouth. He keeps eye contact with Grantaire as he sucks on two fingers, then guides those two fingers down to where he has a thigh draped over Grantaire’s hip.

He practically presses them into himself, and it’s the hottest thing Grantaire’s ever seen in his life.

And Grantaire’s done this with Enjolras to some extent. He’s slid a finger in while he was sucking him off, licked him and rubbed at him while he was sucking him off, but that’s been it.

Somehow, it’s different like this. It’s different with their bodies bent like this, and breath hot against each other’s skin, and the way Enjolras reacts when Grantiare presses forward his fingers curled…

Also, Grantaire’s vaguely aware of what this means. Of what this means Enjolras wants. It’s different, and nervewracking, and exciting, and perfect…

Enjolras rolls over onto his back eventually, taking Grantaire with him, and the covers fall all the way off with them. Enjolras takes a moment to pull his boxers off, and Grantaire does the same. 

Grantaire leans over him, but Enjolras continues to tug at his hips. He crawls forward, about ask Enjolras what the fuck he’s doing, but then Enjolras curls forward and wraps his lips around Grantaire’s cock. “Fuck,” Grantaire says, throwing one hand out into the headboard to keep his balance, and letting the other slide through Enjolras’s hair. “Do you have a condom?” he thinks to ask.

Enjolras pulls off, pushes Grantaire back a little, then sits up. “No,” he says, “but it’s okay. We don’t need one.”

“Oh my God, Enjolras. Yes we do,” Grantaire starts. “We’re not having this conversation right now…”

“I tested you. You’re fine. Don’t start,” Enjolras says, starting to push Grantaire back into something that would resemble the missionary position. Grantaire does his best to resist.

“Enjolras, that has been--” He doesn’t even know. “I’ve been with…” I’ve been with other people since then. I’ve whored since that test. That test isn’t reliable. In the grand scheme of things, I’m still a whore. Maybe we…

“No,” Enjolras says forcefully. He wraps his legs around Grantaire’s waist and tries to pull him down. “I took your toothbrush in February and tested it. It was fine. You’re fine.”

Grantaire stops moving and looks down at him. Enjolras suddenly stops moving as well and stares back, then begins to look highly uneasy. “I didn’t mean--” Enjolras starts. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you or… I just wanted to know. For you. Because if you weren’t healthy, you needed to get treated, you know? And the sooner you catch – that. The better that chance of staying healthy and happy and shit.” He’s quiet for a long time, and Grantaire’s not sure what to say. “And I just… I just want you happy and healthy, you know?” he finishes.

Grantaire stares. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“I didn’t want you to be mad,” Enjolras says. Which Grantaire thinks is pretty ridiculous. ‘Hey, I found out you were healthy! Don’t be mad!’ “I mean, I wasn’t just trying to invade your privacy…” Enjolras rambles.

But on second thought, back in February, Grantaire may have been angry about it. It was, on some level, an invasion of privacy.

“Please don’t be angry,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire looks down at him and realizes just how far back last night has put him. Of course, Grantaire hadn’t seen him ‘before’, so to speak, so he has no real basis for comparison. But in all of the times that Grantaire has been an utter asshole to Enjolras – which even Grantaire can admit has been a lot – Enjolras has never asked him to not be angry.

“I’m not,” Grantaire says. “I’m not mad. Not angry.” He lets himself settle down between Enjolras’s legs, and feels Enjolras’s thighs close around his hips. It’s comfortable and warm. He leans down to breathe against the man’s jaw, and can feel the rough edge of his stubble. He lets his hand wander back up the inside of Enjolras’s thigh, then leans back on his haunches to rub at Enjolras’s perineum.

Enjolras regards him through those pretty eyes, his legs spread out wantonly, and Grantaire spits once before letting his fingers slide beck inside. Enjolras rolls his hips with him, then mumbles, “I thought you’d be mad.”

Grantaire just shakes his head, and watches as Enjolras shifts a little beneath him. Grantaire curls his fingers, and Enjolras arches his back. It’s really hard to get mad at you anymore, Grantaire thinks.

“I want more,” Enjolras says eventually, reaching down to grab at Grantaire wrist. “I want you…”

Grantaire meets his eyes, heat curling so tight in his stomach, and lets his fingers slide out. “If you’re sure you’re okay,” Grantaire says. “If you’re sure you’re okay with not using protection. And only using spit…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Enjolras snaps. “We’re both clean. And spit’s fine.”

“You always use real lube with me,” Grantaire points out.

“Yeah, because you’ve been torn before,” Enjolras says. He tugs at Grantaire’s hips. “Fuck me…”

Grantaire hesitates. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve topped?”

“No,” Enjolras says. “And I don’t care. Just fuck me.”

“I haven’t topped since like--” Enjolras stares up at him in something resembling exasperation. “Since like the dinosaurs roamed the earth…”

Enjolras spits in his hand a few times, then reaches down between them to rub over Grantaire cock. He lines Grantaire up himself, then demands again, “Fuck me.”

And Grantaire’s only a man, and he has very little willpower when the head of his cock is being held against Enjolras’s asshole. Enjolras’s rubs him against that little pucker. Grantaire shivers. “Just,” Grantaire says, letting his hips shift forward a fraction of an inch. “Just tell me if I’m hurting you. Or if it feels like shit. Or something…”

“Of course,” Enjolras says, and his voice softens with the words. “Just, come on,” he says, and when he tugs at Grantaire’s hip again, Grantaire lets himself sink in.

Enjolras breathes out slowly, and his head lolls to the side on his pillow. Grantaire gets as deep as he can – because fuck, fuck, fuck – and when he leans down over Enjolras, propping himself up on his forearms, Enjolras wraps his hands around Grantaire’s biceps and holds tight.

Enjolras hitches his legs up around Grantaire’s waist, and Grantaire starts a slow rhythm.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras sighs, then lets his head flop to the other side.

“You okay?” Grantaire murmurs, ducking his head. Enjolras turns his head, and they end up breathing into each other’s mouths. Enjolras makes an ‘mmm’ sort of noise, and then Grantaire kisses him.

And this is what therapeutic sex is, Grantaire realizes. It’s not like how it’s fantasized in romance novels or movies. It’s just real sex between two real people who need reassurance – reassurance that they’re still together, that love still exists, and that they’re both still alive.

It’s there in the way Enjolras’s head is thrown back over his pillow, his neck and throat exposed and gorgeous and perfect for Grantaire to lick and suck at.

It’s there in the way Enjolras says his name, and tells him how good he feels, and tells him how much he’s needed this.

And it’s there in the way Enjolras smiles at him afterwards, sated and sweaty and still a little sleepy, and says, “Good. Yeah?”

Grantaire chuckles. “Ah. I guess it was alright,” he says, rolling his eyes at the complete understatement. He reaches out to brush a piece of hair off of Enjolras’s forehead, then lets his thumb drift affectionately down Enjolras’s cheek. He’s not sure how he’s gotten this attached to the man. “You deserve so much better than me,” Grantaire says absently.

“I’m not sure how you can say that,” Enjolras says. Then, suddenly very irritably, “Or why the hell the thought even crosses your mind anymore…”

Grantaire doesn’t answer.

Enjolras sighs. “You put your life on the line for me last night,” he eventually says. “You can’t say…”

“He put a knife to my throat,” Grantaire says. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

“He wanted me,” Enjolras says. “He was going for me. If you’d let him go when he let you go…”

“He grabbed me.”

“No,” Enjolras says. “He had you pinned, and then as soon as I picked up the phone, he lost it. He wanted me. He just had to settle for you because you wouldn’t let him get to me…”

Grantaire thinks, and maybe Enjolras is right.

“Well, what else was I suppose to do?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras just shakes his head into the pillow.

“You did the same thing,” Grantaire points out. “What if he didn’t go down when you hit him? Or he’d seen you? He’d have had you before you’d have been able to do anything about it…”

“That’s not the same,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire rolls his eyes.

“You put your life on the line,” Enjolras says. “And I love you for it. And I’d do the same if the situation were reversed.”

You already did, Grantaire wants to say, but he doesn’t. He just sighs and stares at those beautiful green eyes. “That last time you walked by,” he blurts suddenly. “That last time you walked by me in the kitchen, when Mathieu was behind me and you had the pot. You looked me once in the face, and I thought – I thought, fuck, that’s the last time I’m ever going to be able to look at his eyes ever again…”

Enjolras just looks at him blankly. Maybe he doesn’t understand, or maybe he can’t process this. Grantaire doesn’t know. Grantaire reaches a hand out and runs a finger down an eyelid, forcing Enjolras to close that eye. Enjolras does so willingly and trustingly.

“I love your eyes,” Grantaire rambles. “I know I’ve said that before, but I do.” 

“Do you think I look okay?” Enjolras brings up out of the blue.

“What do you mean?” Grantaire asks. “Was I not just saying…?”

“No, I mean…” Enjolras says. “Mathieu always used to give me crap. Say I was too lanky and shit. I mean, I’ll try to work out more if…”

“Enjolras, I’m not,” Grantaire says. It’s a completely different side to Enjolras; he’s not his usual, confident self. “I’m not Mathieu.”

Enjolras’s quiet, then says, “I know. I just was saying, I mean, I have…”

“You look fine,” Grantaire says. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” And he is, Enjolras is other worldly; he's got the most perfect blond ringlets that curl down to his shoulders and always look in place. His face is perfectly in proportion and symmetrical – Grantaire hasn’t even seen a face like that on a statue. And lanky? Not in Grantaire’s opinion – he’s 6 foot 4 and perfectly toned. Grantaire doesn’t say any of that though.

Enjolras doesn’t say anything. Grantaire rubs his shoulder.

“I should take a shower,” Enjolras eventually says. “Bahorel’s home, and he’ll probably want to talk to me soon.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says. He opens his mouth to say ‘I love you’, and finds the words harder to say when there’s no fit of emotion to fuel them.

Enjolras’s already shut the door behind him before Grantaire can get them out.

He stares at the bathroom door and wonders what the hell is wrong with himself.  
~*~  
It’s not until there’s a series of knocks on the bedroom door, and Grantaire’s in the process of swinging up out of bed to get his boxers, that he realizes they’d never locked the door.

Feuilly opens the door slowly, which at least gives Grantaire enough time to cover himself back up with the sheets before he sees anything. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Feuilly says, frowning.

“No,” Grantaire says awkwardly. “I thought we had the door locked. My bad.”

The room still smells like sex, which is mildly embarrassing. Except Feuilly doesn’t look evenly slightly surprised or offended. And Grantaire supposes that it is sort of expected that they’d have sex after last night, all things considered.

And really, he could have walked in while they were actually fucking. The door had been unlocked the whole time, after all. And that? That would have been worlds more humiliating.

“Is Enjolras here?” Feuilly asks.

“He’s in the shower,” Grantaire says.

“Sort of what I thought,” he replies. “Will you send him out to the kitchen when he’s through? Bahorel wants to talk to him.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Grantaire says.

And so when Enjolras gets out of the shower, Grantaire relays the message.

But this time, when Enjolras gets to the bedroom door to let himself out into the hall, dressed and clean and shaved and looking like himself again – this time, Grantaire doesn’t fuck up.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, before Enjolras can close the door behind himself and leave Grantaire to shower and get dressed himself. Enjolras backs up a few steps and peers around to meet Grantaire’s gaze. “You mean the world to me,” he manages to get out. “And I’m really sorry this happened. I would have never opened that door if…”

“You didn’t know,” Enjolras says. “You were just…”

“You were asking me to leave it,” Grantaire says, “and I should have respected that.”

Enjolras shakes his head, but doesn’t answer.

“I just need to learn,” Grantaire says. “I’ll learn…”

“You don’t need to learn anything,” Enjolras says. “I just want someone to stand next to me. I’m used to someone standing over me. And since I’ve been the one being towered over, God knows I don’t want to be the overpowering one.”

It’s quiet.

“And I don’t want that,” Enjolras eventually says. “I just want to have someone to share my life with. Because I have this life. And you have your life. And we don’t always agree on everything. And we don’t always get along. And you really drive me insane sometimes. But then you make me smile, and you make me laugh. And I like spending time with you, and talking to you, and your personality and just… You’re my best friend.”

Grantaire’s not sure what to do or say. He figures he’d make love to him again if he wasn’t needed out in the kitchen. Words aren’t his forte, though.

“I think this is what it’s supposed to be like,” Enjolras says quietly. “You know… Love. Relationships. Making things actually work. Or at least trying to.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “I think you might be right.”

Enjolras nods, still hanging in the door. “Are we going to?” Enjolras eventually asks. “Keep trying to make this work?”

“Enjolras…” Grantaire sighs. “Enjolras, I--”

“I know, I know,” Enjolras says. “But I can help you get back on your feet. I can help you find a job, and help you get back into school if you want. Get you a little used car or something, you know? It won’t take too much.”

“I can’t take advantage of you like that,” Grantaire says, immediately humiliated. “I’ll figure a way out to take care of things.” He’s already thinking of how to hide the fact that he’ll be whoring from Enjolras…

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Enjolras snarls, too loudly considering there are other people in the house. Grantaire balks. Part of him can’t get used to Enjolras swearing so much. 

“I can’t--” Grantaire searches for the right words. “You get paid jack shit, Enjolras. You live in a little apartment. You’re obviously careful about what you buy and how you spend. And the economy sucks. You’re not going to put money down on me to help get me back on my feet!”

“Who said I was broke?” Enjolras says, narrowing his eyes.

“I didn’t say that,” Grantaire snaps.

“Just because I choose not to spend it doesn’t mean I don’t have it,” Enjolras says, still a little hostile. But then his voice softens, even becomes a bit amused, “And anyway, my parents aren’t exactly struggling. I’ve got money through them, too.”

Grantaire laughs. “Great. So you’re going to use your parents mafia money to put your prostitute gay-boyfriend through college? I’m sure that’ll go over really well with them.”

“Some things, parents just don’t need to know,” Enjolras says, grinning. Then, “And for the record, you’re not a prostitute.”

“Well, not anymore,” Grantaire relents, then shrugs. Enjolras nods, still grinning a little.

“That was the first time you’ve ever said ‘boyfriend’,” Enjolras points out. “In reference to one of us, at least.”

“Well, we are,” Grantaire says, then adds, “aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says. “We’re going to try to make this work, right?”

“Right,” Grantaire confirms.

“Try to make this work for, like, a long time?”

“Yes. Right.”

“A long time, like, a long, long time?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Like, nursing home long time?”

Grantaire can’t help but laugh. “We’ll be old, smelly, wrinkly, and chasing after each other in wheelchairs, for sure…”

Enjolras laughs as well, then leans his head against the doorframe. He smiles in at Grantaire with the gorgeous look on his face – peaceful and happy – and Grantaire watches him with a soft grin. “I love you,” he says quietly. Then, “Go take a shower, and leave that bandage on those stitches. Try to keep it as dry as you can.”

“Yessir,” Grantaire mocks, and Enjolras gives him an exasperated little eyeroll.

And Grantaire manages to catch him one last time before he leaves for the kitchen.

“Enjolras,” he says, and when Enjolras peeks back in, “I love you, too.”

Enjolras smiles gently, almost shyly, and ducks his head before he finally disappears down the hall.

It’s only the third time Grantaire’s actually said the word to him. The scary l-word. Love.

He’s now aiming for infinity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter!
> 
> Feedback would really be appreciated.


	11. to know we're loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, hope is hard to come by, but when you least expect it, it might walk up to you in the middle of a dark night with warmest brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

Grantaire had been concerned about Enjolras moving back into that same apartment after everything had happened. There were other apartment complexes, he’d pointed out. Maybe it would be better to get away from there.

Enjolras had ignored him.

And so they move back into where they came from just a couple of weeks after leaving it, but if the truth be told, it’s no longer Enjolras’s apartment.

It’s EnjolrasandGrantaire’s apartment.

While Grantaire’s things have always been there, it’s suddenly more noticeable. There’s Enjolras’s side of the bed, and Grantaire’s side of the bed. Enjolras’s toothbrush, and Grantaire’s toothbrush. Enjolras’s socks, and Grantaire’s socks. It’s all incredibly mundane and wildly fascinating at the same time.

Enjolras takes his sneakers off by the front door sometimes, and when he does, Grantaire takes his off there too.

He gets his license, and Enjolras puts money down on a used VW that has quite some miles on it, but runs damn good. It’s a silver, standard economy edition but it still feels so damn good to drive it off the lot.

And then come the art classes at community college.

“What’d you learn at school today, honey?” Enjolras teases him when he gets home that first day.

Grantaire rolls his eyes, throws his bag down on the couch, and says, “I learned that I’m old…”

“Pshh,” Enjolras says. “You’re not old.”

“I’m old compared to a bunch of eighteen year olds…”

And then suddenly, Enjolras’s working, and Grantaire’s in school and working part time.

Mathieu gets charged with assault with a deadly weapon, breaking and entering, breaking the terms of his restraining order and harassment.

They have dinners with Courfeyrac and Combeferre and friends.

Grantaire takes his finals and passes all of his classes with flying colours.

They celebrate Enjolras turning 28, and then Grantaire turning 24. 

And they’re curled on up the couch together in early-December, hot chocolate in hand, and Enjolras says, “There’s something I’ve never asked you…”

“Hmm?” Grantaire replies, already exceedingly nervous at those words.

Enjolras twists to meet his eyes, and says, “How has your arm been?”

Grantaire blinks. “What?”

“Your arm,” Enjolras says quite calmly, motioning to said body part. “After you fell. Has it been okay?”

“I never fell,” Grantaire says, frowning. “I mean… I never fell.”

“Yeah, you did,” Enjolras says, uncurling from Grantaire side to sit up and face him properly. “When you first came to the clinic that time and you’d been – beat up. You had that bruise on your face and the cracked ribs. But then you’d done something to your shoulder too. It’d seemed like you’d torn something…”

“Oh,” Grantaire says.

“I didn’t mean to, just, forget about it,” Enjolras says, letting his eyes drop in embarrassment. “There’s just been so much else…”

“No, I know,” Grantaire says. “It hasn’t been bothering me. If that’s what you asking.”

“Do you have full range of motion, though? Is it strong?”

“Hell, I don’t know,” Grantaire says, shrugging. “I was going to start going back to some dance classes. So I guess we’ll find out?”

“You might want to have someone look at it before you just go over there and jump straight in,” Enjolras says nonchalantly, picking at a fingernail. “After about five minutes, you might regret going in the first place. If there is something wrong…”

Grantaire regards him for a moment, glaring for a moment, before deciding, “You just want to play nurse.”

Enjolras glares back. “I want to make sure you’re okay,” he insists.

Grantaire glares.

Enjolras glares.

Grantaire caves. “Okay. What’d you want me to do?”

“Just come here,” Enjolras says, and motions with his own hands for Grantaire to reach up toward the ceiling. Grantaire faces him on the couch, one leg tucked underneath himself, and raises his arms straight up. The look on Enjolras’s face tells him he did not just pass this test, and then Enjolras reaches up to try to push his right arm a little farther back, just a little straighter…

He calls Enjolras several horrible names on that impulse of pain that he honestly doesn’t mean. He spends several moments apologizing profusely, and Enjolras hugs him and tells him he’s sorry for hurting him. Grantaire wants to laugh afterwards for how sappy it all is.

“You’re not going to want to hear this,” Enjolras says, fretting at his bottom lip. “But that probably needs surgery.”

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire says, rolling his eyes. “It’ll get better after a while. Don’t worry.”

Enjolras smirks. “Yeah,” he says. “Because you got your medical education at the university of Stupid Bastard, Egypt. So you’d know.”

“Jerk,” Grantaire says, letting Enjolras rub at his shoulder. Enjolras turns him around after a moment, hands settling on his shoulderblades to begin massaging properly, and Grantaire lets his chin drop to his chest. “Mmm, you read my mind,” he mutters.

Enjolras chuckles, and presses a kiss to the back of Grantaire’s neck. “Since I’m giving you a massage,” Enjolras says, “your half of the deal is to go to the doctor and get your shoulder looked at.”

“I always thought my end of the deal was to roll over and spread my legs,” Grantaire says innocently, turning his head slightly to glance back.

Enjolras squeezes his shoulders and laughs. “That’s my reward if I do an especially good job,” Enjolras says in his sexy voice, which is also interchangeable with his moron voice. Grantaire smiles.

“But I thought your reward was me going to the doctor?” Grantaire tries, feigning confusing.

“Grantaire…” Enjolras sighs.

Grantaire cracks up.  
~*~  
As it turns out, Enjolras is right.

The doctor runs Grantaire through an MRI screening, which shows a severely torn rotator cuff.

A torn rotator cuff equals surgery on the 2nd of May for one Grantaire. He whines and bitches and moans at first. Because seriously, does anyone really need their shoulder? And his works fine at the moment. It’s not a huge deal. Yeah, it does get pretty damn sore when he lifts with it, but…

He repeats all of this to Enjolras, and Enjolras just laughs at him.

But as it turns out, surgery isn’t bad at all. The actual procedure is out-patient and virtually noninvasive – it’s done lapriscopicly, Enjolras says, though Grantaire has no clue what this means. But Enjolras drives him home from the hospital that very afternoon after surgery, and Grantaire’s already awake if a bit drowsy, three tiny punctures in his shoulder stitched and bandaged neatly, and his arm in a big ass clunky sling.

“Come on,” Enjolras tells him as they enter the apartment. Grantaire wanders inside and hones in on the couch without having to be told. He walks over and awkwardly lies down as Enjolras locks the door behind them. Trying to get the immobilizing sling to cooperate with the whole ‘lying down’ plan is a bit difficult, but he eventually manages. “There you go,” Enjolras says once Grantaire’s down, then asks, “Do you want something to drink? Water? Coke?”

“Oh. Yeah. I want a coke,” he says, and goes to get back up.

“I’ll get it. I’ll get it,” Enjolras says, putting a hand on Grantaire’s side to keep him in place. “Don’t get up. You have an excuse to be waited on for a while,” he adds with a little grin.

Grantaire goes to protest, but then lying on the couch feels so nice right then. He relaxes again, and says, “Okay.”

Enjolras’s already gone into the kitchen.

When Enjolras comes back, he repositions himself a bit so that he can hold the glass with his free hand, because he’d be damned if he’d let Enjolras hold the glass for him. Not that Enjolras wouldn’t do it. In fact, Enjolras had come in looking fully prepared to do it. But there is a line between being waited on and being treated like a child.

“You’re doing really good for only a few hours post-op,” Enjolras comments. He leans forward from where he’s sitting on the coffee table to thumb at Grantaire cheek once Grantaire hands his drink back. “Tough as nails, though,” he adds. “So I guess that’s expected.”

“Mmm,” Grantaire mumbles, and goes to reach for Enjolras with his bad arm without thinking. He hisses in pain as it pulls in the slings.

“Easy,” Enjolras murmurs, sliding off of the coffee table and onto his knees by the couch. “You can’t move that,” he reminds him, running his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, then pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Grantaire decides suddenly that he wants a real kiss, so he tilts his head up, and Enjolras understands what this means. They’re so in tune it scares Grantaire sometimes.

They kiss, soft and sweet, just lips, no tongue, and then Grantaire says, “I love you.”

Enjolras smiles against his lips and says, “You too.”

Enjolras pulls away eventually, letting a hand linger along Grantaire’s hip as he moves away. “I’m going to get something to eat. I’ll be right back,” he says. “Are you hungry? Do you want something?”

“No. Not hungry,” Grantaire answers.

And Grantaire’s not really tired or sleepy, and he listens as Enjolras wanders away, talking about something...

He’s asleep before Enjolras makes it back to the living room with his sandwich.  
~*~  
He spends the next few days alternating between the couch and the bed, busying himself watching television, reading, and sleeping off the last of the anesthesia. Enjolras goes back to work after that first day, but he panics and frets, asks Grantaire if he wants Combeferre to come over and stay with him.

Grantaire points out that all he really has to get up and do during the day is get something to drink, get something to eat, and piss. And he doubts he’ll need Combeferre’s help for any of those three things.

Three days later, though, Enjolras has another ‘day off’. Considering he’d just taken two days off in a row to help Grantaire get through surgery, Grantaire highly doubts he actually has the day off. Or rather, had it off before he decided to stay home to play nurse with Grantaire, but whatever…

Silently, Grantaire’s happy to have him home. Grantaire’s used to his new life now – school, work, busy days, people everywhere. Being cooped up in the apartment alone became old within the first ten minutes.

And lover aside, Enjolras is just good company.

“I am so gross,” Grantaire tells him that afternoon. “You realize I still haven’t gotten to shower after this surgery. When am I allowed to shower?”

Enjolras regards him thoughtfully. “You could probably get away with it now,” Enjolras says. “As long as we’re careful not to get those stitches too wet.”

“Then I am going to shower,” Grantaire tells him, struggling to stand up from the couch.

“You’ll have to let me help you,” Enjolras says. “You won’t be able to wash your hair yourself. You can’t reach.”

Grantaire goes to argue, then realizes Enjolras is right. Then realizes that maybe Enjolras washing his hair might be a little sexy. “Okay,” he says.

If Enjolras is surprised by the lack of an argument, he doesn’t show it. He just follows Grantaire into the bathroom and helps him out of his sling. Then helps him out of his shirt. Then helps him out of his jeans…

Grantaire had never really realised how much he used both arms until now – when he can suddenly only use one.

Enjolras turns the shower on, and Grantaire waits for it to get warm, watches as Enjolras pulls his clothes off as well.

“Come on,” Enjolras says, motioning for Grantaire, and Grantaire gets in with him, careful to keep his stitches out of the water as instructed.

Enjolras’s methodical – nurse thing, Grantaire’s always assumed – and it spills over into everything. Hair-washing inluded, it turns out. But it’s nice – Enjolras’s fingers in his hair is always nice, but it’s even better with hot water and bubbles and shampoo smell.

And then, even though he could probably handle washing his own body – he’s allowed to reach down with his healing arm, just not up – Enjolras just plunges on with the body wash, and Grantaire doesn’t find any need to stop him.

Grantaire doesn’t find any need to stop him, no, but when he finds himself face to face with the man, Enjolras’s hands rubbing over Grantaire’s chest, Enjolras’s eyes on Grantaire’s face, he realizes just how turned on he is. And just how long it’s been since they’ve had sex. And just how hard he’s getting.

Enjolras’s eyes drop from Grantaire’s face, slide down his chest and stomach, and land on his hardening cock. He eventually lets his soapy hands wander there as well, and Grantaire sucks in a quiet breath.

That slick friction is perfect.

“We haven’t had sex in a while,” Grantaire points out.

“Mmm,” Enjolras says, sidling a little closer. He lets his hands wander down to his testicles, rolls them around in his hands, then moves his hands all the way up to his stomach. Grantaire makes a little disappointed sigh. “It’s been about six days,” Enjolras says. Then, with a grin, “Not that I’m counting or anything…”

“Well,” Grantaire says, “you can’t go grabbing my dick like that and then not follow up.”

Enjolras laughs, patting Grantaire’s stomach, then spinning him around to wash his back. “Do you feel up to it?” he asks afterward.

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, smiling a little. “Yeah, I feel good.”

“Good,” Enjolras says, and leans forward to give him a kiss against the back of his next. His erection rubs against the back of Grantaire’s ass as he moves. Heat curls tight, and Grantaire wants.

Enjolras makes him wait until after they get out of the shower so they won’t get his stitches wet. And Enjolras makes them wait until they’re completely dried off so they can do it in the bed – less chance of Grantaire reinjuring the shoulder that way, Enjolras says. And Enjolras makes them wait until they get the fucking sling back on Grantaire, because according to Enjolras, Grantaire needs it on during sex. And on top of that, Enjolras makes them wait until they get a t-shirt on Grantaire, because apparently the sling straps will make sores on his bare skin.

Grantaire is pissed, horny, and beyond sexually frustrated by the time they actually make it to the bed…

Which actually makes it that much more incredibly satisfying when that one, slick finger is pressed inside him. He lets out a breathy moan, his good hand palming at his cock, and keeps eye-contact with Enjolras. Enjolras fucks him with one, then two fingers, and watches him with that sexy, pleased look that he always does. That look that blows Grantaire’s mind to this day.

Gorgeous brown eyes.

Gorgeous brown eyes that ignite every time he sees them.

And when Enjolras slides inside, those brown eyes flutter.

“Look at me,” Grantaire says.

Brown eyes open, and Grantaire smiles. Enjolras smiles back, and tries to hide the shudder that runs through him as he rocks back, then in. Grantaire eases his good hand down Enjolras’s shoulder and across the smooth skin of his back.

And they know each other’s bodies practically better then they know their own. They fit. Sex is panting, sweating, groaning, arching, twisting, pleasure. All without trying. And Grantaire can’t kid himself that it will be this way forever, but right now, the sex is always good.

Like, leg in the air, toe-curling kind of good.

Grantaire’s usually tired afterwards anyway, but as Enjolras rolls off of him, careful to avoid the sling, he feels completely ready to just roll over and go to sleep. It’s only late afternoon. He shouldn’t be this tired.

He’s been inactive as all hell, though.

Enjolras sidles back over for his obligatory post-coital cuddling, pressing his face into the curve of Grantaire’s neck and shoulder. Grantaire lets his head loll against Enjolras’s. His eyes start to drift shut.

“Did I wear you out?” Enjolras asks quietly, a little humorously.

Grantaire snorts. “Maybe,” he says. Then, “I don’t know. Just tired, I guess.”

“Some of the anesthesia still might be hanging on,” Enjolras says. “It sometimes takes people a good week to feel like themselves again.”

Grantaire nods against Enjolras’s hair, his eyes still closed.

“Go to sleep if you feel like it,” Enjolras eventually murmurs. “I probably will too.”

Yeah, Grantaire thinks.

And he wonders where he’d be at that exact moment if Enjolras weren’t there. He scrolls through the possibilities, making most of them up, because he knows exactly where he’d be.

He’d be at his corner with a broken shoulder and a broken soul.

Yes, hope is hard to come by, but when you least expect it, it might walk up to you in the middle of a dark night with warmest brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

He breathes in, the soft shampoo smell of Enjolras’ hair filling his senses, and drifts to sleep with love, peace, and hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over and I'm so sad. Would anyone be interested in a sequel? I half have one written so it's not ready to go and it'll take some work but I'd be happy to if there was interest. I have another (much shorter) finished fic that I'm going to start posting in the next couple of days and an old one shot that's ready to go too.
> 
> Feedback would be so welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't actually written anything proper in years, but I finally finished this and thought I'd upload it.


End file.
